> 


IMAGE  EVALUATION 
TEST  TARGET  (MT-3) 


^ 


:/. 


^ 


^ 


_^; 


1.0 


1.1 


11.25 


•0  Ui   12.2 


U    |L6 

^s  niiiii!^ 


Photographic 

Sciences 

Corporation 


^ 


<> 


<«>:*<>?♦*  "^ 


v\ 


23  WBT  MAM  STRKT 

WnSTILN.Y.  I4SM 
(716)t7a-4S03 


CIHM/ICMH 

Microfiche 

Series. 


CIHM/ICMH 
Collection  de 
microfiches. 


Caradtan  Institut*  for  Historical  IWIicroreproductiont  /  institut  Canadian  da  microraproductiona  historiquaa 


;..  'n: 


Tachnieal  and  Bibiiosraphie  Notaa/Notas  tachniquaa  at  bibiiosraphiquaa 

Tha  Instituta  has  attamptad  to  obtain  tha  baat 
original  copy  availabia  for  filming.  Faaturaa  of  thia 
copy  which  may  ba  bibHographicaHy  unlqua, 
which  may  altar  any  of  tha  imagas  in  tha 
raproduction,  or  which  may  aignificantly  changa 
tha  usual  mathod  of  filming,  ara  ehackad  balow. 

L'Institut  a  microfilm*  la  malHaur  axamplaira 
qu'il  lui  a  4t#  poaslbia  da  sa  procurar.  Las  details 

point  da  vua  MbHographiqua,  qui  pauvant  modifiar 

modification  dans  la  mithoda  normala  da  filmaga 
aont  indiquAs  d-dassous. 

Colourad  covars/ 
Couvartura  da  coulaur 

1 — 1  Colourad  pagas/ 
1 1  Pagas  da  coulaur 

Covars  damagad/ 

1 — 1  Pagaa  damagad/ 
1 1  Pagas  andommagAas 

Covars  rastored  and/or  laminatad/ 
Couvartura  rastauria  at/ou  pallicul4a 

1 — 1   Pagas  rastorad  and/or  laminatad/ 
1 1  Pagas  rastaurias  at/ou  pallicuMas 

1 — 1   Covar  titia  missing/ 

1 1   La  titra  da  couvartura  manqua 

r~7]  Pagas  discolourad,  stainad  or  foxad/ 
liL.    Pagaa  dAcolor#as,  tachatAas  ou  piqu*as 

Colourad  maps/ 

Cartas  gAographiquas  an  coulaur 

1  y    Pagaa  datachad/ 
IjL    Pagas  d«tach«as 

Th 
to 


Th 
po 
of 
fill 


Or 


ot 
fin 

Sifl 

or 


D 
D 
D 
D 

D 


D 


Colourad  inic  (i.a.  othar  than  blua  or  black)/ 
Encra  da  coulaur  (i.a.  autra  qua  blaua  ou  noira) 


Colourad  plataa  and/or  illustrations/ 
Planchaa  at/ou  illustrationa  an  coulaur 


Bound  with  othar  matarial/ 
flalM  avac  d'autras  documants 

Tight  binding  may  causa  shadows  or  distortion 
along  ir<tarior  margii«/ 

Lareliura  sarria  paut  cauaar  da  I'ombra  ou  da  la 
distortion  la  long  da  la  marga  intiriaura 

Blank  laavas  addad  during  raatoration  may 
appaar  within  tha  taxt.  Whanavar  poaalbia,  thasa 
hava  baan  omittad  from  filming/ 
II  sa  paut  qua  cartainas  pagas  blanehaa  ajoutias 
lors  d'una  rastauration  apparaisaant  dans  la  taxta. 
mais,  lorsqua  cala  Atait  poasibla.  cas  pagaa  n'ont 
pas  «t«  fiimias. 

Additional  commants:/ 
Commantairas  supplAmantairas: 


0 
D 
D 
D 
D 


Showthrough/ 
Transparanca 

Quality  of  print  varias/ 
Qualit*  intgala  da  I'lmprassion 

Includas  supplamantary  matartol/ 
Comprand  du  matirial  supplAmantaira 

Only  aditlon  availabia/ 
Saula  MItfon  disponlMa 

Pagas  whoHy  or  partially  obscurad  by  arrata 
sNps,  tisauaa.  ate.,  hava  baan  rafilmad  to 
ansura  tha  bast  possiMa  imaga/ 
Laa  pagaa  totalamant  ou  partkrtlamant 
obscurdaa  par  un  faulHat  d'arrata.  una  palura. 
ate,  ont  tU  fHmias  i  nouvaau  da  fa^on  i 
obtanir  la  maiNaura  imaga  poasibla. 


Th 
shi 
Til 
w» 

IMi 

dH 
aw 

rigl 


This  itam  is  fiimad  at  tha  raduction  ratio  ehackad  balow/ 

Co  documant  ast  film*  au  tsux  da  rMuetton  indk|u*  ci«daasoua. 


10X 

14X 

wx 

ax 

aix 

MX 

J 

12X 

itx 

»x 

MX 

am 

aatx 

Th*  copy  fllm«d  iHira  has  bMn  r«produo«d  thanks 
to  tha  ganarosity  of: 

National  Library  of  Canada 


L'axamplaira  film*  f ut  raproduit  grica  A  la 
g*n4rosltA  da: 

BIbllothAqua  natlonala  du  Canada 


Tha  Imagaa  appaaring  hara  ara  tha  baat  quality 
poaalbla  eonaMaring  tha  eondltlon  and  laglblllty 
of  tha  original  copy  and  In  kaaping  with  tha 
filming  contract  apacif Icationa. 


Original  copiaa  In  printad  papar  covers  ara  fiimad 
baglnning  with  tha  front  eovar  and  anding  on 
tha  laat  paga  with  a  printad  or  illuatratad  im praa- 
ston,  or  tha  bacic  covar  whan  approprlata.  All 
othar  original  copiaa  ara  fiimad  iNiginnlng  on  tha 
f  irat  paga  with  a  printad  or  illuatratad  impras- 
slon.  and  anding  on  tha  iaat  paga  with  a  printad 
or  illuatratad  Impraaaion. 


I.aa  imagaa  suhrantaa  ont  4t*  raproduitas  avac  la 
plus  grand  soln;  compta  tanu  da  la  condition  at 
da  la  nattat*  da  l'axamplaira  filmA,  at  an 
conformity  avac  las  conditions  du  contrat  da 
fiimaga. 

Laa  axamplalras  originaux  dont  la  couvartura  an 
papiar  aat  imprimia  sont  fllm4s  an  commandant 
par  la  pramlar  plat  at  an  tarminant  soit  par  la 
damiira  paga  qui  comporta  una  amprclnta 
dimprassion  ou  d'llluatration,  soit  par  la  sacond 
plat,  aalon  la  caa.  Tous  las  autras  axamplalras 
originaux  sont  fiimis  an  commandant  par  la 
pramiAra  paga  qui  comporta  una  amprainta 
d'Imprasslon  ou  d'lllustratlon  at  an  tarminant  par 
la  damMra  paga  qui  comporta  una  talla 
amprainta. 


Tha  laat  racordad  frama  on  aach  microficha 
ahaH  contain  tha  symbol  — »•  Imaaning  "CON- 
TINUED"), or  tha  aymboi  ▼  (moaning  "END"), 


Un  das  aymbolaa  suhrants  apparattra  sur  la 
damlAra  Imaga  da  chaqua  microficha.  salon  la 
caa:  la  symboia  -^^  signlfia  "A  8UIVRE",  la 
symbols  ▼  algnifia  "FIN". 


piatoa,  charts,  ate.,  may  ba  fiimad  at 
diffarant  reduction  ratioa.  Thoaa  too  larga  to  ba 
antiraly  Inoludad  in  ona  axpoaura  ara  fHmad 
beginning  In  the  upper  left  hend  comer,  left  to 
right  and  top  to  bottom,  aa  many  framea  aa 
required.  The  following  diagrama  iHuatrata  tlie 
method: 


Lea  cartes,  pisnches.  tableeux,  etc..  peuvent  Atre 
flimte  i  dee  taux  da  rMuctlon  diffArants. 
Loraque  la  document  eat  trop  grand  pour  Atre 
reproduit  en  un  aeui  cllcliA.  11  est  film*  A  partir 
da  Tangle  supMeur  geucha.  de  geuche  i  drolte. 
et  de  haut  en  bea,  an  prenant  la  nombre 
d'Imegea  nteeaaaira.  Lea  diagrammea  suivanta 
illuatrent  la  mithoda. 


1  2  3 


1 

2 

3 

4 

5 

6 

\ 


D. 


GALLOP 


▲  KOKO 

AMERICAN  SCENERY: 

OB, 

SKETCHES 

09 

AXEBSOJJX  flOBNSS  AND  MILXTABT  ADVBNTURB. 


,» --'•♦■  ■'■"^- 


'*f  ■ 


BT       .  /■ 

•    AUGUSTUS   E.  SILLIMAN.^ 


nbw-tork: 

D.  APPLETON  &C0.,  200  BROADWAY. 


pbiladklphia: 
GEO.  S.  APPLETON,  148  CHE8NUT  STREET. 

•  /•••••• 

■  OOOOXLIIX* 


-'J  ! 

1 


■^, 


:*.  "  V 


••;,#iir>-*  ■ 


BlitSMd,  according  to  Act  of  Congre$i»  in  the  yew  184t, 

BV  s.  ArrLBToir  ahs  oo., 

In  tlie  Gle rit'i  Ofllee  of  the  District  Court  for  the  Skmtbem  District  of 

New-York. 


'iiswxo,  waxxraM, 


..'*■  »«<«%, 


rl84l, 

m  Dif trict  of 


TO 


BENJAMIN    D.   SILLIMAN, 


THIS 


ILUWILS  T(Q)]LV1C2B 


IS 


▲  VVBOTZOMATSLT  ZKSOBZBao. 


BT 


nxs    BEOTHBR. 


CONTENTS. 


I.   Banxi  or  TBI  Potomac 1 

11.    Thb  Covktbt  Paitob 8 

III.  Mount  ViBNoir It 

IV.  MiOIOAL  Stvdbrt 15 

v.   Thi  Rmubbiotionmtb 89 

VI.   Old  Kbnhidt,  No.  1 44 

VII.  Old  Ken NBDT,  No.  II 58 

VIII.  Old  Ebnnidt,  No.III 50. 

IX.    Old  KBtTNXDT,  No.  IV 68 

X.    Lex's  Partisan  Lbgion 78 

XL    BUDSON  RiVEB 107 

XII.   NioHT  Attack  ON  FoBT  Ebie 113 

XIIL    Battle  OF  Lunot's  Lanb 120 

XIV.   Lake  Georoe  and  Ticondbrooa 131 

XV.   Montreal 139 

XVL    The  NvN 144 

XVII.   Cataracts  OF  Niagara ..,   148 

XVIII.    Mount  HoLTOKX 155 

XIX.    White  Mountains 160 

XX.   Bass  Fishing  OFF  NiwroBT 160 

XXL    Bbenton's  Reef 170 

XXIL    Old  Tbinitt  Stbbflb 185 

XXIIL    Long  Island  Sound SOI 

XXIV.    GBEEN-WoOD  ClMITlBT tM 

Appendix *. S8t 


I  A 


i   1 


t: 


Bire] 

on  t 

emb 

strid 

N 

Nort 

pane 

steei 

end! 

Ehei 

torre 

How 

Sing 

Pshi 

the  4 

how 

strec 

goin 

grim 

tioni 

feUo 

and 


BANKS  OF  THE  POTOMAC. 


No.  -«Statb-8Trebt— (storm  without) — apartment 
strewed  with  sundry  bachelor  appurtenances,  fronting 
on  the  Battery — a  gentleman,  in  dressing-gown  and 
embroidered  slippersi  measuring  the  room  with  hasty 
strides — exclaimeth  impatiently — 

North-east  by  the  flags  of  the  shipping  in  the  bay ! 
North-east  by  the  chill  rain  dashing  on  the  window 
panes!  North-east  by  the  weather-cocks  on  all  the 
steeples,  from  St.  Paul's  to  the  dog-vane  on  the  stable 
end !  North-east  by  the  ache  of  every  bone  in  my  body ! 
Eheu !  What's  to  be  done  ?  No  going  abroad  in  this 
torrent.  I've  read  all  the  landlady's  little  library. 
How  shall  I  kill  the  enemy?  I'll  whistle;  vulgar. 
Sing;  I  can't.  There  are  the  foils  and  the  gloves. 
Pshaw  !  I  have  no  friend  to  pommel  or  pink ;  besides, 
the  old  lady  in  the  room  beloWf  has  nerves.  Whew ! 
how  it  pours,  ril — I'll — stand  and  look  out  into  the 
street.  Jupiter!  how  near  the  bread-cart  came  to 
going  over  the  chimney  sweep.  Poor  Sooty — how  hei, 
grins  !  He  owes  the  worm  no  silk — whatever  obliga- 
tions his  rags  may  be  under  to  the  sheep.  Poor 
fellow !  Holloa !  ho  !  blackey ;  catch  this  quarter, 
and  get  you  a  hot  breakfast.  There  goes  that  con- 
1 


2  BANKS    or    THB     POTOMAC. 

founded  battery  gate  again !  bang — bang — night  and 
day.  There*!  never  a  loafer  takes  his  morning  pro* 
menade,  or  even  siesta  on  the  grass,  but  must  needs 
follow  his  dirty  face  through  that  particular  ^  Ue. 

Alas !  me  miserable.  What  shall  I  do  ]  1  ae  spirit 
of  ennui  rides  me  as  thoroughly  as  did  the  **  old  man 
of  the  sea"  Sinbad  the  sailor.  Eh !  they're  the  dumb 
bells.  Diminish  nervous  excitability,  by  muscular 
exertion.  Good  ! — humph ;  and  there's  the  old  lady's 
nerves  below.  How  the  wind  roars  and  rumbles 
round  the  chimney  tops.  Rain — rain — rain.  There ! 
that  tin  spout  is  choked,  and  the  gutter  is  pouring  over 
a  young  cataract.  Oh!  that  I  were  a  newspaper 
carrier,  or  a  whale — or  the  sea  serpent,  chasing  the 
down  East  fishermen — or — in  short,  any  thing,  so  that 
I  need  not  mind  the  wet.  Hum — ^hum — what  shall  I 
do?  I  have  it.  Eureka!  I  have  it.  PU  sit  down 
and  give  my  friend  of  the  American  an  account  of  my 
last  ramble. 

(RoUeth  his  chair  up  to  the  table  at  the  fire— cross- 
eth  his  legs  on  the  fender — and  proceedeth  to  nib  his 
pen.)    Now  for  it.     (Writes.) 


You  well  recollect,  my  dear  Mr.  Editor,  the  argu* 
ments  that  I  used,  to  induce  you  to  make  a  short  journey 
to  the  South  with  me  last  summer ;  and  your  answer, 
"  I  can't  leave  the  paper."    You  well  recollect  that  I  \ 
urged  that  we  were  not  bom  to  work  alone  ;  that  life 


BANK!    or     THI     POTOMAC 


wu  short ;  that  sixteen  or  sixt*',  its  term  was  but  a 
flash ;  that  we  were  rushing  on  with  increased  Telo- 
city to  that  bourne,  whose  sands  are  marked  by  no 
returning  foot-print — ^that  bourne  where  the  sceptro 
and  diadem  of  the  monarch  lie  contemptuously  hurled 
with  the  goad  and  chain  of  the  slave — wheroy  their 
service  ended,  the  broken  wain  of  the  yeoman,  and  the 
grim  cannon  of  the  soldier,  interlock  their  shattered 
wheels;  the  bayonet  and  pruning-hook — the  sword 
and  the  ploughshare  rest  without  a  name.  You  well 
recollect  that  I  reproached  you,  the  rather,  with  too 
great  love  for  the  green  fields  and  giant  elms  around 
your  cottage  at  Elizabethtown ;  that  I  swore  by  my 
faith !  and  I  believed  in  the  doctrine  of  Pythagoras,  that 
I  should  look  to  see  thy  immortal  part,  transferred  on 
its  exit,  from  its  present  habitation  to  one  of  those  huge 
trees  towering  into  the  blue  ether ;  that  there,  in  the 
sunny  mornings  of  summer,  for  sonnets  which  do  en- 
liven thy  columns,  I  should  hear  the  joyous  call  of 
the  robin — the  shrill  whistle  of  the  scarlet  oriole ;  for 
sparkling  wit, — ^the  dew  of  night  glittering  on  thy 
leaves  in  the  early  sunbeams ;  for  wise  old  saws,  and 
dreamy  legends,  venerable  moss  gathering  upon  thy 
trunk  and  branches,  while,  alike  in  the  evening  wind 
or  howling  blast,  thou  shouldest  stand  firm  against 
casuistry  or  dictation.  "  Wilt  go  ?"  «  Wilt  join  me  V 
— ^with  soft  persuasion  murmured  I.  **  The  paper—- 
the  paper— the  pa— per,"  quoth  thou.  "  Presto,"  quoth 


4  BANKS     OF    THE     POTOMAC* 

I — and  without  more  ado  started  in  my  usual  heels- 
over-head  fashiouy  alone  on  my  journey. 

I  swept  over  the  broad  breast  of  the  Delaware- 
dashed  down  the  enemy  insulted  Chesapeake — ^bounded 
through  the  city  of  riots  and  beauty,  and  came  down 
on  my  feet  at  the  cottage  of  my  whole-souled  friend, 
Tom  B ,  on  the  banks  of  the  Potomac.  The  after- 
noon of  my  arrival  was  warm  and  still,  and  every  thing 
in  nature,  even  the  birds,  seemed  wrapped  in  indolent 
repose.  Slowly  sauntering  through  the  long  vistas  of 
sycamores  and  elms,  which  adorned  the  grounds  in 
picturesque  avenues,  the  airy  East  Indian  cottage  of  my 
friend  suddenly  broke  upon  my  sight,  peering  from 
a  whole  load  of  flowering  vines  and  sweet  briars, 
t^l  white  lilies,  and  moss  roses,  from  thick  beds  of 
myrtle  at  their  feet,  climbing  into  the  half  open  lattices, 
while  two  towering  pines  almost  crossed  their  extend- 
ed branches  above  its  lowly  roof.  I  stole  quietly 
through  the  open  door,  examining  the  choice  Italian 
landscapes  hanging  upon  the  walls  of  the  airy  grass- 
matted  hall, — slid  through  the  drawing-rooms,  stopping 
for  a  moment  to  scan  the  crouching  Venus  and  dying 
Gladiator  on  their  pedestals ;  to  admire  the  exquisite 
Magdalen  of  Carlo  Dolce — the  lovely  Claude,  the 
Cenci,  and  Flora  beneath  their  silken  tassels, — and 
Icoming  out  upon  the  verandah  overlooking  the  river, 
suspended  in  his  grass  hammock,  found  master  Topi, 
enjoying  his  luxurious  siesta.   His  double-barrelled  gun 


BANKS     OF    THE    POTOMAC. 


and  game-bag — ^his  linen  shooting  jacket,  huge  som- 
brero, aDd  hunting-boots,  were  tumbled  promiscuously 
in  one  comer  of  the  piazza,— while  half  a  dozen  fine 
plover,  turning  up  their  plump  breasts,  a  partridge,  and 
some  score  of  yellow-legged  sni^e,  with  the  powder* 
flask  and  shot-belt,  were  thrown  across  the  back  of  the 
rustic  settee,  trophies  of  his  morning's  sport,  beneath 
which,  with  their  noses  extended  between  their  legs  in 
like  luxurious  repose,  lay  the  huge  old  Newfound- 
lander, **  Bernard,"  and  his  favourite  pointer,  "  Soho." 
The  mild  breeze  bore  in  the  sweet  perfume  of  the 
honey-suckle  from  a  neighbouring  arbour,  and  the 
broad  Potomac,  stretched  tranquilly  onwards,  undis- 
turbed save  by  the  occasional  jibe  of  the  boom,  or 
lazy  creak  of  the  rudder  of  some  craft,  reflected  with 
her  white  sails  upon  its  surface.  The  garden,  with  its 
white-gravelled  walks,  bordered  with  box,  descended 
in  parterres  to  the  river's  edge. — an  embroidered  carpet 
of  flowers;  and  lemon  and  orange  trees,  released  from 
their  winter's  confinement,  displayed  their  golden  fruit,* 
hanging  amid  the  green  leaves  in  tempting  profusion. 
I  bent  over  and  looked  into  the  hammock,  and  could 
not  but  admire  the  serenity  of  the  manly  features,  the 
measured  heave  of  the  broad  chest,  and  the  masses  of 
raven  locks,  playing  around  the  white  forehead  of  the 
sleeper,  as  they  were  slowly  lifted  by  the  play  of  the 
passing  wind.  I  thought  it  were  a  sin  to  disturb  him, 
•0  drawing  out  my  cigar  case,  I  stretched  myself  on 


BANKS     OF    THE     POTOMAC. 


^  y, 


n 


the  settee  at  his  side,  complacently  reclining  my  head 
upon  its  arm.  Whiles  watching  the  blue  smoke  of  my 
**  Regalia,"  as  it  slowly  wreathed  and  floated  above  my 
head — whiles  watching  the  still  dreamy  flow  'of  the 
river — and  whiles — if  I  must  confess  it — cogitating 
which  had  been  the  wisest}  myself  the  bachelor,  or 
Tom  the  married  man, — Tom,  myself,  the  dogs,  form- 
ing a  tolerably  correct  picture  of  still  life, — a  still  life 
that  remained  unbroken  for  some  half  hour,  when 
through  the  glass  door  of  the  drawing-room  a  beautiful 
boy  of  three  or  four  years  came  galloping  into  the 
piazza,  and  bounding  towards  the  dogs,  threw  himself 
full  length  upon  the  shaggy  Newfoundlander,  manfully 
striving  to  pull  open  his  huge  jaws  with  his  little  hands. 
The  Newfoundlander  opening  his  eyes,  saw  me,  and 
raising  himself  on  his  legs,  gave  a  low  growl ;  while 
the  child,  relinquishing  his  hold  upon  the  ears  to  which 
he  had  clung,  as  the  dog  rose  to  his  feet,  came  slowly 
tap  to  me,  and  placing  his  plump  little  hands  upon  my 
4iiee,  Iboked  curiously  and  inquiringly  into  my  face, 
his  golden  locks  falling  in  a  profusion  of  ringlets  down 
his  superb  sunburnt  shoulders.  I  was  charmed  with 
the  confidence,  and  innocence,  and  sweetness  beaming 
from  his  gaze,  and  took  him  upon  my  knee,  his  hand 
playing  with  my  watch  guard,  while  his  beautiful  blue 
eyes  remained  fixed  in  the  same  look  of  curious  inquiry 
on  mine.  I  said  it  was  a  picture  of  still  life.  Tom, 
aroused  by  the  dog,  slowly'  lifted  his  head  over  the 


BANKS    OF     THE     POTOMAC. 


edge  of  the  hammock^  rubbed  bis  eyes  as  if  uncertain 
whether  he  were  in  a  dream,  as  I  calmly  and  silently 
returned  his  astonished  gaze,  and  then,  with  a  single 
swing,  was  at  my*  side,  both  of  my  hands  clasped  in 
his.  The  next  moment,  I  fancy  the  picture  was  other 
than  still  life. 

Why  'should  I  tell  you  of  the  tea-table,  loaded  with 
delicacies  in  the  matted  hall^  as  the  soft  evening  sun-set 
poured  its  last  rays  through  it?  of  the  symmetrical 
figure  clad  in  snowy  whiteness — the  Grecian  features, 
the  dark  Andalusian  eyes,  beaming  with  kindness  from 
behind  the  glittering  silver  at  its  head  ?  Why,  that  the 
youngster  tied  by  the  handkerchief  in  the  high  chair  at 
his  mother's  side,  pertinaciously  kicked  his  tiny  red 
shoes  about  him  in  frolic  glee,  while  my  little  knight  of 
the  golden  locks,  did  the  duty  of  the  trencher  at  his 
father's  elbow  ?  Why,  that  as  the  shades  of  evening 
faded  into  twilight,  that  the  young  gentry  were  snugly 
ensconced  in  their  little  bed,  the  mother's  soft  cheek 
pressed  against  the  forehead  of  the  eldest  as  he  lisped 
his  evening  prayer?  and  why,  as  soon  *'like  twin 
roses  on  one  stalk,"  as  they  were  wrapped  in  innocent 
slumber,  we  sat  in  the  fading  twilight,  talking  over  old 
scenes  and  boyish  recollections,  retracing  our  steps 
back  to  those  days  which,  softened  by  the  lapse  of  time, 
appear  divested  of  every  thing  save  brightness  uid  sun» 
shine  ?  why  but  to  tell  you  that  we  were  aroused  from 
those  retrospections,  by  the  sound  of  the  church-going 
bell,  musically  chiming  in  the  distance. 


li 


THE   COUNTRY  PASTOR. 

The  slow  tolling — now  almost  djring  away,  and  now 
striking  more  strongly  upon  the  ear — arose  from  the 
church  in  the  neighbouring  town,  where  my  friends 
were  in  the  habit  of  worshipping,  and  where  they  were 
to  have  the  opportunity  on  that  evening  of  hearing  the 
voice  of  their  time-honoured  pastor — an  opportunity 
which  his  great  age  and  increasing  infirmities  had  made 
equally  rare  and  valuable.  I  gladly  accepted  the  in- 
vitation to  join  them,  as,  aside  from  a  desire  to  see  the 
aged  man,  of  whona  I  had  so  often  heard,  if  there  is  a 
time  for  devotion  more  consonant  to  my  feelings  than 
another,  it  is  when  the  quietness  and  serenity  of  a  sum- 
mer's evening  dispel  all  external  impressions,  and 
every  thing  appears  in  unison  with  harmony  and  be- 
nevolence. 

As  we  walked  the  short  half  mile  between  the  cot- 
tage and  the  church,  the  stars  shone  in  beauty  amid  the 
still  rosy  tints  of  the  w<)st — the  night-hawk  stooped 
towards  us,  as  he  wheeled  in  his  airy  circles-— the 
whip'poor-will  in  the  adjoining  meadows  sounded  his 
mournful  note,  and  the  crickets,  with  the  chirping  frogs 
in  the  neighbouring  ponds,  sustained  a  ceaseless  cho- 
rus.   Arrived  at  the  church-yard,  we  picked  our  way 


THE     COUNTRY    PASTOR. 


.  among  the  old  brown  tomb-stoaes,  their  quaint  devices^ 
contrasted  here  and  there  with  others  of  more  modem 
pretensions  in  white  marble,  and  entering  the  churchf 
took  our  seats  in  silence.  We  w^re  early;  but  as 
the  church  gradually  filled,  it  was  interesting  to  watch 
group  after  group,  as  it  noiselessly  measured  th6  aisles, 
and  sunk  quietly  upon  the  cushioned  seats.  Now  and 
then  a  pair  of  brfght  ,eyes  would  glance  curiously 
around  from  beneath  a  gay  bonnet,  and  a  stray  tress 
be  thrown  hastily  aside  ;  but  alas  !  those  clad  in  the 
habiliments  of  wo,  too,  too  often  moved,  phantom-like, 
to  their  places  ;  the  lights,  as  they  threw  a  momentary 
glare  on  their  pale  and  care-worn  faces,  making  more 
dark  the  badges  which  aflfection  has  assumed  as  a 
tame  index  of  inward  grief.  The  slow  toll  of  the  bell 
ceased-^the  silence  became  more  'deep ; — an  occa- 
sional cough — ^the  rustling  of  a  dress — the  turn  of  a 
leaf  alone  breaking  the  perfect  stillness. 

The  low  tones  of  the  organ  rose  gently  and  sweetly, 
and  the  voluntary  floated  softly  and  mist-like  over  the 
assembly ;  now  rising,  and  falling,  and  undulating,  with 
like  dreamy  harmony,  as  if  the  ^Eolian  harp  were 
answering,  with  the  passing  airs  playing  among  its 
strings,  the  ocean  gently  laving  her  pebbly  shores ;  then 
gradually  rising  and  increasing  in  depth,  it  grandly  and 
solemnly  ascended  upwards,  till  thrown  back,  reverbra- 
ted  from  the  walls  of  the  circular  dome  above  us,  it 
rolled  away  in  deep  and  distant  thunders.    All  became 


m 


THE     COUNTRY    PASTOR* 


again  silent.  The  venerable  form  of  a  man  of  four- 
score yearsi  his  hair  bleached  with  the  sorrows  of 
eighty  wintersi  rose  slowly  in  the  pulpit,  and  as,  with 
eyes  closed,  yet  lifted  to  Heaven,  he  feebly  supported 
himself  with  outstretched  arms  upon  its  cushion,  we 
heard  almost  in  a  whisper,  "  Let  us  pray,  my  brethren," 
fall  tremulously  from  his  lips.  Nought,  but  the  perfect 
stillness,  enabled  us  at  first  to  heaf  the  sentences  pro* 
nounced  with  evident  and  painful  effort ;  but  as  he 
advanced  in  prayer,  tbat  almost  whisper,  became  firm 
and  distinct,  and  his  pallid  cheek  lighted  up  with  a 
hectic  flush,  as  he  waxed  eloquent  in  the  presence  of 
his  Maker. 

His  venerable  features  appeared  to  glow  almost  with 
inspiration,  as  he  drew  near  the  throne  of  the  Holy 
One ;  and  the  hearts  of  the  mourners  beat  more  calmly* 
as  they  felt  themselves  carried  into  the  presence  of 
Him  that  sufifered.  More  thoughtless  than  the  swallow 
that  skims  the  summer  skies,  must  he  have  been,  who 
could  have  heard  that  prayer,  and  not  have  joined  with 
reverence  in  its  solemnity.  His  closing  words  still 
ring  upon  my  ear,  and  long  will  remain  stamped  upon 
my  memory. 

"My  children — ^your  fathers,  and  your  fathers* 
fathers  have  listend  to  my  voice.  Generations  have 
passed  by  me  to  their  long  account,  and  still  I  have 
been  left,  and  still  my  voice  hath  arisen  from  this  holy 
place.     Wo !   wo  is  me,  if  my  Master  hath  looked 


THB     COUNTRY    PASTOR. 


IS 


upon  me  as  a  slack  and  unworthy  servant  to  his  people. 
My  children — but  a  few  short  days,  and  this  trem- 
bling voice  that  still  strives  to  teach  his  blessed  willt 
shall  be  hushed  in  that  sleep  which  the  Archangel's 
trump  alone  shall  break — ^this  tottering  form  be  laid 
beneath  the  mould  from  whence  it  came,  there  to 
remain  till  that  trump  shall  demand  its  presence  at  the 
judgment  seat.  But  with  the  last  tones  of  this  quiver* 
ing  voice,  with  the  last  grasp  of  these  trembling  hands, 
I  extend  to  you  the  sacred  volume,  as  your  guide  to 
happiness  in  this,  your  only  light  into  the  world  to 
come. 

**  The  sneers  of  human  reason  and  vain  philosophy 
shall  desert  you  assuredly,  my  children,  as  you  stand 
upon  the  edge  of  that  awful  precipice,  where  each  of 
you  dUme  must  take  the  fated  plunge  into  the  deep  dark- 
ness of  the  future — but  this,  this  shall  make  clear  your 
passage  as  brightest  noon-day.  My  children — I  look 
back  upon  you  as  I  speak — ^my  hand  is  on  the  door- 
latch — my  foot  upon  the  threshold — oh !  when  your 
short  days  like  mine  are  numbered,  may  you  with  the 
same  reliance  in  his  mercy,  say,  Lo,  blessed  Master, 
we  stand  without — ^receive  us  into  thy  kingdom." 

As  the  service  ended,  it  was  good  to  see  the  kind- 
hearted  feeling,  with  which  the  congregation  gathered 
around  the  venerable  man — for  he  was  pure,  and  sin- 
cere, and  true  ;  and  of  a  verity,  as  he  said,  his  voice 
had  arisen  among  them  above  the  infant's  wail,  at  the 


12 


THB     COUNTRT    PASTOR. 


baptismal  font — ^had  joined  them  with  cheerfulness  at 
the  marriage  feast,  and  still  been  heard  in  solemn  sym- 
pathy at  the  side  of  the  dark  and  silent  grave.  It  was 
the  last  time  that  he  addressed  them.  Not  many  days* 
and  another  voice  pronomiced  the  burial  service  of  the 
dead  in  that  green  church-yard,  and  the  form  of  the 
good  old  man  was  covered  from  their  si^t  benealh  its 
sod. 

As  we  returned  to  our  cottage  home,  the  crescent 
moon  was  streaming  in  silvery  brightness,  the  con- 
stellations and  galaxy  resplendent  with  **  living  fires," 
and  the  far,  far  worlds  rolling  in  immeasurable  distance, 
as  twinkling  stars  trembled  upon  our  human  vision. 
The  dews  of  night  were  moist  upon  the  grass,  as  we 
re-measured  the  lawn  that  led  to  the  cottage  ;  where, 
after  planning  our  visit  for  the  following  morning  to 
Mount  Vernon,  we  soon  v/ere  wrapped  in  contented  and 
grateful  repose. 


MOUNT   VERNON. 


The  sun  raised  himself  in  a  huge  globe  of  fire  above 
the  eastern  horizon,  as  my  friend*s  spirited  bays  stood 
saddled  at  tKe  door  of  the  cottage,  pawing,  champing 
the  bit,  and  playfully  endeavouring  to  bite  the  black 
boy  who  held  them.  Finishing  an  early  breakfast,  we 
were  soon  in  our  saddles  and  full  gallop  on  our  journey ; 
the  dogs  in  an  ecstacy  of  delight,  bounding  along  at 
our  sides,  overhauling  and  putting  in  bodily  terror 
every  unfortunate  cur  that  came  in  their  way,  as  they 
sportively  tumbled  him  over  and  over  in  curious  exami- 
nation ;  old  Bernard,  with  glistening  eyes  and  wagging 
tail,  bestriding  in  grim  fun  the  prostrate  form  of  the 
enemy.  We  passed  rapidly  through  the  rough  paved 
streets  of  Alexandria,  watching  eagerly  for  its  famed 
beauties  at  their  casements,  and  clearing  the  town, 
were  soon  on  the  rustic  road  that  leads  to  the  sacred 
place  of  America. 

The  meadows  were  glistening  in  the  morning  dew ; 
the  sweet  perfume  of  the  clover  filled  the  air ;  the 
white  daisy  and  delicate  cowslip  danced  over  their 
luxuriant  grassy  beds,  as  the.  fresh  morning  breeze 
fanned  them  in  its  passage ;  and  amid  the  sea  of  melo- 
dy high  above  the  merry  gossip  of  the  bob>link,  the 


It) 


14 


MOUNT    VBRNOlf. 


chattering  volubility  of  the  mocking-bird)  his  yellow 
spotted  breast  swelling  with  delight,  his  keen  eye  gas* 
ing  into  the  distance,  the  saucy  *'  you-can^tsee-fne  "  of 
the  meadow  lark  sounded  in  merry  challenge,  while 
the  clear  **  whew- whew* it"  of  the  quail  from  the  golden 
wheat-field,  was  echoed  by  his  eager  companion  far 
down  in  the  green  vales,  as  they  stretched  softly  and 
gently  into  the  distance,  in  the  long  shadows  of  the 
early  morning.  Oh !  let  him  that  would  scan  the  be- 
nevolence of  the  Creator,  leave  his  restless  bed  in  the 
sweltering  city,  and  walk  forth  with  the  day  in  its 
youth, — for  verily,  like  man,  it  hath  its  youth,  its  man- 
hood and  its  old  age-— and  the  sweetness  of  morning 
is  the  youth  of  the  day. 

The  hedges  on  the  road  side  were  covered  with  a 
tangled  mass  of  verdure,  from  which  wild  vines  and 
green  ivy  crept  to  the  surrounding  trees,  wreathing 
gracefully  their  trunks  and  branches.  The  under- 
growth was  loaded  with  wild  roses  and  honey-suckles. 
The  graceful  fleur-de-lis,  curving  its  blue  flowers, 
trembled  upon  the  green  banks,  and  the  pond-lily  float- 
ing on  its  watery  bed,  threw  forth  its  grateful  fragrance, 
as  we  occasionally  passed  through  the  swampy  bottoms. 
Fat  cattle  grazed  indolently  in  the  meadows ;  while 
now  and  then,  as  we  cantered  by  their  pastures,  the 
horses,  with  tails  and  manes  erect,  accompanied  us  on 
our  journey,  till  arriving  at  their  confines,  with  eager 
neighing,  they  would  look  after  us,  throw  their  heels 


MOUNT     y  ERNON. 


16 


high  in  the  air,  and  gallop  down  into  the  broad  fields  iu 
the  very  jollity  of  freedom.  Every  thing  seemed  con- 
tented and  joyous.  The  hearty,  happy-looking  negroes^ 
trudging  along  to  their  agricultural  labours,  dofied  their 
hats  to  us,  with  a  cheerful  **good  morning,"  as  we  pass- 
ed, or  laughingly  displayed  their  white  teeth  and  big 
eyes,  as  they  led  the  dew-wet  horse  to  the  bars  to 
mount  and  drive  to  the  milking  the  smooth,  fat  kine* 
A  ride  of  an  hour  brought  us  to  the  woods  that  adjoin 
Mount  Vernon,  which  are  cleared  of  undergrowth,  but 
in  other  respects  as  wild  and  untamed  as  if  naught  but 
the  savage  had  ever  placed  foot  in  them.  Silence 
reigned  through  the  deep  glades,  unbroken,  save  by 
the  hoofs  of  our  horses  as  they  resounded  with  hollow 
echo  ;  the  sharp  chirp  of  the  squirrel,  jumping  among 
the  dry  leaves ;  or  the  quick  rap,  rap,  of  the  wood- 
pecker, as  his  scarlet  head  and  blue  back  glanced  mo* 
mentarily  from  some  dead  trunk  upon  our  eyesight. 
We  met  with  nothing  to  intercept  our  progress.  Now 
and  then,  to  be  sure,  a  drove  of  hogs,  feeding  upon  the 
mast  in  the  forest,  would  marshal  themselves  in  our 
path,  stupidly  staring  at  us  with  a  sort  of  ludicrous, 
half-drunken  gravity,  snuffing  the  air,  as  if  determined 
to  intercept  our  progress ;  but  as  we  came  nearer,  they 
would  whirl  short  about,  and  with  a  simultaneous  grunt, 
their  tails  twisted  in  the  air,  gallop  off  with  desperate 
precipitation  into  the  depths  of  the  forest.  Journey- 
ing a  mile  or  two  further,  we  came  upon  the  porter's 


mmm 


,13 

li 


le 


MOUNT     VIRNON. 


lodgetr  at  the  entrance  of  the  domain  properi  which 
were  old  and  ruinous.  Proceeding  still  farther  over 
a  very  bad  and  rough  carriageroad«  we  came  suddenly 
in  view  of  the  Potomac ;  and  Mount  Yeinont  with  ita 
mansion-house  and  smooth,  green  lawn,  lay  extended 
before  us ;  Fort  Washington's  battlements  and  cannon- 
filled  embrasures  in  stem  silence  guarding  it  from  the 
opposite  side  of  the  river. 

Fastening  our  horses,  under  the  guidance  of  a  grt^y- 
headed  old  negro,    born    in  the   family  of  C'eneral 
Washington,  we  entered  the  lawn  and  came  upoii  the 
rear-front,  if  the  term  may  be  allowed,  of  an  old-fash- 
ioned mansion,  surmounted  by  a  cupola  and  weather- 
cock, semicircular  piazzas  extending  around  from  each 
end,  connecting  it  with  the  kitchen  and  servant's  apart- 
ments.    Various  buildings,  all  bearing  the  impress  of 
time,  were  RCottered  about,  evidently  in  architectural 
order  and  plan,  and  the  two  large  gardens,  rendered 
interesting  by  the  flowers  and  plants,  still  blooming  in 
the  beds  where  they  had  been  placed  by  the  hands  of 
the  General,  extended  back  to  the  forest  from  which 
we  had  just  emerged.    As  we  stood  for  a  moment 
looking  at  the  old  building,  we  almost  expected  to  see 
the  yellow  travelling-carriage  d*"  his  Fxcellency,  with 
its  four  beautiial  bays,  and  lirciied  out,  riders^  I.  .w  up 
at  the  great  hall  door  in  its  ccutre.    Having  sent  in 
our  address,  we  received  permission  from  the  courteous 
branch  of  the  family,  who  now  hold  the  estate,  to  enter 


MOUNT    V IR  NON. 


17 


and  survey  the  interior.  We  were  struck  with  its  ex- 
treme simplicity,  tlw  lown«»«  of  the  walls  and  ceilings, 
and  the  bare  fluors,  which  vvere  waxed,  not,  as  with  us, 
carpeted.  The  sides  of  the  rooms  were  composed  #x* 
clusively  of  wooden  panels,  upon  which  hung  some 
old  oil  paintings  of  merit,-— engravings  of  naval  actions 
between  the  English,  the  Dutch,  and  the  Fresich  ;  and 
a  small  enamel  miniature,  which  is  considerv!^  the  beat 
likeness  extant  of  Washington.  Curiosities  of  various 
kinds  covered  the  shelves  and  the  mantels,  and  the 
painted  porcelains  and  china  jars,  stood  in  stately 
display  behind  the  glass  doors  of  the  old-fashioned 
beaufets  in  the  corners. 

Our  attention  was  arrested  for  a  moment,  as  we 
passed  through  one  of  the  rooms,  by  a  large  rusty  key 
of  iron,  enclosed  in  a  glass  case.  It  was  the  key  of  the 
Bastile,  that  infernal  prison,  that  monument  of  centu- 
ries of  grinding  cruelty  and  oppression,  where  men 
vanished,  and  were  seen  no  more  of  their  dav  and 
generation, — where,  by.  the  intrigues  of  the  courtier, 
the  subtle  blandishments  of  the  minion  of  the  palace, 
letters  de  cachet  plunged  equally  the  innocent,  the  im- 
prudent, and  the  generous,  into  the  jaws  of  living  death, 
— that  accursed  congerie  of  dungeons  where,  from  mid 
fellowship  of  rats  and  spiders,  such  scrap  of  soiled 
paper,  written  in  the  blood  of  the  poor  prisoner,  flutter- 
ing from  a  loop-hole  in  its  lofty  towers,  arrests  the 
footstep  of  the  casual  passenger  upon  the  causeway. 


•tpPMMMMpM^iM 


18 


H  OUNT    VERNON. 


I! 


[■(  I 


» 


i  i 


**  Mases  de  Latude,  thirty-tioo  years  prisoner  in  the 
Bastile,  implores  good  Christians  to  intercede  for  him, 
so  that  he  may  once  more  embrace  his  poor  old  father 
and  mother,  if  they  yet  live,  and  die  in  the  open 
world." 

Surely,  nothing  but  the  hallowed  air  of  Mount  Ver- 
non could  have  prevented  the  Prince  of  Darkness  from 
bodily  carrying  off  so  precious  a  gem  for  his  cabinet. 
One  side  of  fhe  great  drawing-room  was  ornamented 
with  a  sculptured  mantel  in  Italian  marble,  present- 
ed by  Lafayette,  the  other  was  covered  with  cases 
containing  books  of  high-toned  selection,  while,  from 
the  third,  its  green  silk  curtain  drawn  aside,  was  sus- 
pended a  portrait  of  the  present  family,  by  Chapman. 
The  figures  of  the  portrait,  as  large  as  life,  presented 
a  lady  of  middle  age,  clad  in  mourning*  surrounded  by 
a  group  of  children  advancing  into  youth.  It  was  well 
executed,  and  in  the  dignified  and  saddened  serenity, 
in  the  simple  and  natural  grouping,  and  the  pure  and  un- 
affected expression  of  the  countenances,  an  American 
in  any  part  of  the  world,  would  have  at  once  recognised 
a  family  group  of  the  more  intellectual  and  refined  of 
his  own  country.  As  we  walked  through  the  various 
rooms,  from  which  the  family  had  withdrawn,  we  were 
so  overcome  with  the  illusion,  the  work-basket  with  its 
scissors  and  thread — the  half-opened  book  lying  upon 
the  table,  the  large  Bible  prominently,  not  ostentatious- 
ly, in  its  place,  the  portraits  on  the  walls,  the  busts 


MOUNT    VERNON. 


19 


on  their  pedestals, — all  causing  such  a  vivid  impression 
of  present  life  and  b^ing,  that  we  almost  expected  to 
see  the  towering  form  of  the  General  entering  the  door- 
way, or  passing  over  the  green  lawn  spread  between, 
us  and  that  Potomac  which  we  had  so  often  viewed 
from  the  same  windows.  We  were  at  first  disappoint- 
ed at  not  seeing  in  some  conspicuous  place,  the  sword, 
which  had  so  often  been  extended  by  the  hand  whose 
pulses  quickened  not  in  the  hour  of  extremest  peril,  as 
it  marshalled  the  road  of  human  liberty ;  but  our  dis- 
appointment turned  to  admiration,  and  our  hearts  beat 
still  higher,  as  we  were  referred  to,  and  read  this 
clause  in  his  last  testament : 

"  To  each  of  my  four  nephews,  I  bequeath  one  of 
the  swords  of  which  I  may  die  possessed.  These 
swords  are  accompanied  with  the  injunction  not  to  un- 
sheath  them  for  the  purpose  of  shedding  blood,  except 
it  be  for  self-defence,  or  in  defence  of  their  country 
and  its  rights ;  and  in  the  latter  case,  to  keep  them 
unsheathed,  and  prefer  falling  with  them  in  their  hands 
to  the  relinquishment  thereof." 

Passing  through  the  great  hall,  ornamented  with  pic- 
tures of  English  hunting  scenes,  we  ascended  the  oak- 
en stair-case,  with  its  carved  and  antique  balustrade ; 
— we  stood  at  the  door — ^we  pressed  the  handle — the 
room  and  the  bed  where  he  died  were  before  us.  Noth- 
ing in  the  lofty  drama  of  his  existence,  surpassed  the 
grandeur  of  that  final  scene ; — the  cold  which  he  had 


20 


MOUNT    VERNON. 


i 


taken  from  exposure,  in  overseeing  some  part  of  his 
grounds,  and  which  resisted  the  earlier  domestic  reme- 
dies that  were  applied,  advanced  in  the  course  of  two 
short  days  into  that  frightful  form  of  the  disease  of  the 
throat,  laryngitis. — It  became  necessary  for  him  to 
take  to  his  bed.  His  valued  friend.  Dr.  Graik,  was 
instantly  summoned,  and  assisted  by  the  best  medical 
skill  of  the  surrounding  country,  exhausted  all  the 
means  of  his  art,  but  without  affording  him  relief.  He 
patiently  submitted,  though  in  great  distress,  to  the  va- 
rious remedies  proposed,  but  it  became  evident  from 
the  deep  gloom  settling  upon  the  countenances  of  the 
medical  gentlemen,  that  the  case  was  hopeless ; — ad- 
vancing insidiously,  the  disease  had  fastened  itself 
with  deadly  certainty.  Looking  with  perfect  calm- 
ness upon  the  sobbing  group  around  him,  he  said — 
«*  Grieve  not  my  friends ;  it  is  as  I  anticipated  from 
the  first; — the  debt  which  we  all  owe,  is  now  about 
to  be  paid — I  am  resigned  to  the  event."  Request- 
ing Mrs.  Washington  to  bring  him  two  wills  from 
his  escritoire,  he  directed  one  to  be  burnt,  and  placed 
the  other  in  her  hands,  as  his  last  testament,  and 
then  gave  some  final  instructions  t>  Mr.  Lear,  his 
secretary  and  relation,  as  to  the  adjustment'of  his  busi- 
ness affairs.  He  soon  after  became  greatly  distressed, 
and  as,  in  the  paroxysms  which  became  more  frequent 
and  violent,  Mr.  Lear,  who  was  extended  on  the  bed 
by  his  side,  assisted  him  to  turn,  he,  with  kindness,  but 


MOUNT     VERNON. 


21 


with  difficulty,  articulated,  « I  fear  I  give  you  great 
trouble,  sir, — ^but — perhaps  it  is  a  duty  that  we  all 
owe  one  to  another — I  trust  that  you  may  receive  the 
same  attention,  when  you  shall  require  it." 

As  the  night  waned,  the  fatal  symptoms  became 
more  imminent — his  breath  more  laboured  and  suffocat- 
ing, and  his  voice  soon  after  failed  him.  Perceiving 
his  end  approaching,  he  straightened  himself  to  his 
full  length,  he  folded  his  own  hands  in  the  necessary 
attitude  upon  his  chest — placing  his  finger  upon  the 
pulse  of  the  left  wrist,  and  thus  calmly  prepared,  and 
watching  his  own  dissolution,  he  awaited  the  summons 
of  his  Maker.  The  last  faint  hopes  of  his  friends  had 
disappeared ; — Mrs.  Washington,  stupified  with  grief, 
sat  at  the  foot  of  the  bed,  her  eyes  fixed  steadfastly 
upon  him ;  Dr.  Craik,  in  deep  gloom,  stood  with  his 
face  buried  in  his  hands  at  the  fire, — his  faithful  black 
servant,  Christopher,  the  tears  uncontrolled  trickling 
Aoyirn  his  face,  on  one  side,  took  the  last  look  of  his 
dying  master;  while  Mr.  Lear,  in  speechless  grief, 
with  folded  hands,  bent  over  his  pillow  on  the  other. 

Nought  broke  the  stillness  of  his  last  moments,  but 
the  suppressed  sobs  of  the  affectionate  servants  collect- 
ed on  the  stair-case  ;  the  tick  of  the  large  clock  in  the 
hall,  as  it  measured  off,  with  painful  distinctness,  the 
last  fleeting  moments  of  his  existence,  and  the  low  moan 
of  the  winter  wind,  as  it  swept  through  the  leafless 
snow-covered  trees  ;  the  labouring  and  wearied  spirit 


nw 


mmmmmmtitggfmm 


d2 


MOUNT    VERNON. 


ij 


i 


drew  nearer  and  nearer  to  its  goal ;  the  blood  languidly 
coursed  slower  and  more  slowly  through  its  channels 
— the  noble  heart  stopped — struggled — stopt — flutter- 
ed— the  right  hand  slowly  slid  frern  the  wrist,  upon 
which  its  finger  had  been  placed — it  fell  at  the  side — 
and  the  manly  effigy  of  Washington  was  all  that  re- 
mained, extended  upon  the  death  couch. 

We  left  that  room,  as  those  who  leave  a  sick  room : 
a  suppressed  whisper  alone  escaped  us,  as,  with  a  soit 
of  instinctive  silence  and  awe,  we  drew  the  door  slowly 
and  firmly  to  its  place  behind  us.  We  again  descended 
the  antique  stair-case,  and  emerged  upon  the  lawn,  in 
front  of  the  mansion.  Passing  through  several  coppices 
of  trees,  we  approached  the  sepulchre,  where  rest 
the  remains  of  his  earthly  semblance.  In  the  open 
arch  of  a  vault  composed  of  brick,  secured  and  firmly 
protected  by  gates  of  open  iron  work,  were  two  large 
sarcophagi  of  white  marble,  in  one  of  which,  carved 
in  high  relief,  with  the  arms  of  the  republic,  were  de- 
posited the  remains  of  him,  "  who  was  first  in  war, 
first  in  peace,  and  first  in  the  hearts  of  his  countrymen." 
A  marble  slab,  set  into  the  brick  wall  of  the  exterior, 
bearing  in  black  letters  simply  this  inscription — 

"  The  remains  of 
Gen'l  George  Washington." 

There  rested  all  that  was  mortal  of  the  man,  whose 
justice — whose  virtue — whose  patriotism — meet  with 


HOITNT     VE  RNON. 


99 


no  parallel  in  human  history.  There,  within  the 
smoke  of 'his  own  hearth-stone,  mouldered  the  remains 
of  that  towering  form,  whose  spirit,  whether  in  the 
battle,  or  in  the  council-hall,  in  the  fierce  dissensions 
of  public  discord,  or  in  the  quiet  relations  of  social 
life,  shune  with  the  same  stem  and  spotless  purity. 

The  Potomac  glittered  like  silver,  between  the  trees 
in  the  noonday  sun  at  our  feet ;  the  soft  mild  breeze 
gently  moved  the  leaves  upon  the  tree  tops — the  chirp 
of  the  wren — the  drowsy  hum  of  the  locust — the  quick 
note  of  the  thrush,  as  she  hopped  from  twig  to  twig, 
were  all  that  showed  signs  of  life, — and  those  huge 
sarcophagi  lay  still — motionless — far,  far  from  roice- 
less.  Oh !  my  countrymen,  never  since  he  left  us, 
hath  it  so  behoved  us  to  listen, — "  While  our  Father's 
grave  doth  utter  forth  a  voice." 

We  were  exceedingly  struck  and  affected  by  the 
truthfulness  of  the  *<  Sweet  Swan  of  Avon,"  as  we  saw 
above  the  sarcophagi,  (free  passage  to  which  was  open 
over  the  large  iron  gates,)  the  clayey  nest  of  the  martin, 
or  common  house-swallow,  built  in  the  comer  of  the 
ceiling,  where,  in  perfect  security  and  confidence  she 
fed  her  chirping  brood,  directly  over  the  head  of  the 
departed  hero.  Pure,  indeed,  was  the  air,  "  nimbly 
and  sweetly"  did  it  play  upon  our  senses.  Oh  !  bard 
of  England,  as  standing  upon  that  hallowed  spot,  the 
spirit  of  the  unfortunate  Banquo  whispered  again  to 
our  memories,  his  words  to  the  murdered  Duncan. 


mmmm 


24  MOUNTVERNON. 

*'  This  oastle  hath  a  pleasant  seat ;  the  air 
Nimbly  and  sweetly  recommends  itself 
Unto  our  gentle  senses." 

Banquo.  .  "  This  guest  cf  summeti 

The  temple  haunting  martlet,  does  approve, 
By  his  lov'd  mansionry,  that  the  heavens'  breath. 
Smells  wooingly  here :  no  jutty,  frieze,  buttress, 
Nor  coigne  of  vantage,  but  this  bird  hath  made 
His  pendent  bed,  and  procreant  cradle :  Where  they 
*    Most  breed  and  haunt,  I  have  observed,  the  air 
Is  delicate." 

We  lingered  long  at  the  tomb,  and  with  reluctance 
withdrew,  as  the  advancing  day  warned  us  of  our  home- 
ward returning  ride. 

The  setting  sun,  streaming  in  radiance  through  the 
trees,  measured  in  long  shadows  the  persons  of  the 
two  men  dismounting  at  the  cottage  door»  from  whence 
they  had  departed  so  buoyant  and  joyous  in  its  morning 
brightness.  That  setting  sun,  sinking  beneath  its 
gorgiBOus  bed  of  crimson,  gold  and  purple,  left  those 
men  more  chastened,  true,  more  elevated,  from  their 
pilgrimage  to  the  shrine  of  him  whose  name  shall  for- 
ever be  the  watchword  of  human  Liberty, 


THE  MEDICAL   STUDENT. 


I  REMAINED  Several  weeks  on  my  friend  Tom's 
plantation,  enjoying  the  course  of  life  that  he  pursued, 
which  was  entirely  consonant  to  my  tastes.  His 
plantation  consisted  of  about  three  hundred  acres, 
principally  laid  down  in  wheat,  indian  corn  and  tobacco, 
though  some  of  it  still  remained  in  meadow  and  wood- 
land ; — this,  with  a  handsome  productive  property  in 
the  neighbouring  towns  of  Alexandria  and  Washing- 
ton, afforded  him  an  abundant  income  to  indulge  his 
liberal,  though  not  extravagant  tastes.  He  usually 
arose  at  five  in  the  morning,  mounted  his  horse,  and 
rode  over  the  plantation,  overseeing  and  giving  instruc- 
tions to  the  labourers ;  and  returning,  was  met  by  his 
smiling  wife  and  beautiful  children  at  the  breakfast 
table ;  after  which,  he  again  applied  himself  to  business 
until  eleven,  when  ne  threw  all  care  aside,  and  devoted 
himself  to  pleasure  or  study,  for  the  remainder  of  the 
day.  He  thus  avoided  the  two  extremes  to  which 
country  gentlemen  are  liable, — over  work  on  the  one 
hand,  or  ennui  on  the  other.  His  library — the  win- 
dows commanding  a  view  of  twenty  miles  down  the 
Potomac — was  crowded  with  a  varied  store  of  general 
literature ;  among  which,  I  observed  shining  conspicu- 


26 


THE     MEDICAL     STUDENT. 


ously,  the  emblazoned  bacIjLs  of  Shakspeare,  and 
the  worthy  old  Knight  of  La  Mancha.  History, 
Travels,  the  Classics — English,  French,  Spanish,  and 
Italian — and  works  on  Natural  History  and  general 
science^  were  marshalled  on  their  respective  shelves. 
There  was  also,  a  small,  but  very  select  Medical  Libra- 
ry, for  my  friend  had  taken  his  degree  in  that  profession, 
and  although  relieved  from  the  necessity  of  practising 
for'  support,  he  was  in  the  habit  of  attending  gratui- 
tously on  the  poor  in  the  neighbouring  country. — Mar- 
ble busts  of  Shakspeare,  Milton  and  Columbus,  stood 
on  pedestals  in  the  corners  of  the  room,  and  fine  old 
portraits  of  Cervantes,  Lope  de  Vega,  Dante,  and  Ben 
Joiison,  besides  an  exquisite  gem  of  Ruysdaels  hang- 
ing over  the  fire-place,  adorned  the  walls.  On  one 
side  of  the  room,  fronting  the  entrance,  an  efiSgy  in 
complete  polished  armour  of  the  fifteenth  century, 
stood  erect  and  grim,  the  mailed  gauntlet  grasping  the 
upright  spear ;  while,  on  a  withered  branch  above  it, 
was  perched  with  extended  wings,  a  superb  American 
Eagle,  in  full  preservation,  his  keen  eye  appearing  to 
flash  upon  the  intruders  at  the  entrance.  In  the  cen- 
tre, on  the  soft  thick  carpet,  which  returned  no  sound  of 
footsteps,  was  a  circular  table  surmounted  with  an 
Argand  lamp  and  writing  apparatus ;  on  one  side  of 
which,  was  one  of  the  exquisitely  comfortable  lounging 
chairs,  that  admit  of  almost  every  position  of  ease,  and 
on  the  other,  a  crimson  fauteuil  stuffed  with  down, 


THB     MBDICAL     STUDENT. 


97 


which  Tom  laughingly  said,  was  for  the  pecul?  bene- 
fit of  his  wife,  when  she  saw  fit  to  honour  his  sanctum 
sanctorum  with  her  presence.  He  tasked  his  inven- 
tion to  the  utmost  to  make  my  time  agreeable;— 
horses,  dogs,  guns,  books,  every  thing  was  at  my  dis- 
posal. Among  other  excursions,  he  proposed,  a  few 
days  after  my  arrival,  that  we  should  take  a  run  down 
the  Potomac  in  his  boat.  Now  this  boat  was  none 
other  than  a  beautiful  clipper-built  schooner-rigged 
yacht,  of  about  twenty  tons  burden,  with  a  very  ample 
cabin  in  her  centre,  and  from  the  gilt  eagle  on  her 
stern,  and  the  gaudy  pennant  streaming  at  her  mast- 
head, t3  the  taught  stay  running  out  to  the  end  of  her 
mimic  jib-boom,  the  most  compi'  te  thing  of  the  kind 
that  I  ever  laid  eyes  on.  In  so  expressing  myself 
when  I  first  saw  her,  I  received  an  approbatory  and 
very  gracious  nod  from  "  Old  Kennedy,"  a  regular  old 
salt,  with  one  arm,  for  whom  Tom  had  built  a  cottage 
on  his  estate,  and  to  whom  she  was  beauty  personified ; 
— a  beauty  which  he  could  the  more  readily  appreci- 
ate, from  the  fact,  that  the  far  greater  part  of  his  time 
was  devoted  to  her  decoration.  "  Many  a  time,"  says 
Tom,  **  have  I  found  him  lying  by  himself  on  the 
banks,  looking  at  her  in  admiration  with  half-open  eyes ; 
and  I  much  doubt  whether  my  Mary  looks  more  beauti- 
ful to  me,  than  does  her  namesake,  as  she  floats 
yonder,  to  old  Kennedy." 
But  to  come  to  our  story.    We  appointed  the  follow- 


n  THE     MEDICAL     STUDENT. 

ing  day  for  our  excursion,  and,  having  first  ascertained 
that  Walter  Lee,  an  old  friend,  whose  plantation  was 
a  couple  of  miles  below  would  join  us,  we  early  the 
next  morning  got  up  our  anchor,  and  under  the  influ- 
ence of  a  smacking  breeze,  were  soon  cutting  our 
way  down  the  river,  the  white  canvass  stretching  clean 
and  taught  out  to  tbe  stays ;  our  long  pennant  streaming 
proudly  behind  us,  and  our  little  jack  shaking  most 
saucily  from  its  slender  staff  at  the  bowsprit,  as  we 
merrily  curveted  and  jumped  over  the  waves.  Run- 
ning down  to  a  point  on  Lee's  plantation,  we  got  him 
on  board,  and  were  soon  under  way  again,  the  water 
bubbling  and  gurgling  into  our  scuppers,  as  we  lay  down 
to  it  in  the  stiff  breeze.  Occasionally  she  would 
sweep,  gunwale  under,  when  a  flaw  would  strike  her  ; 
but  old  Kennedy,  wide  awake,  would  bring  her  up  with 
a  long  curving  sweep,  as  gracefully  as  a  young  lady 
sliding  out  of  the  wait:?  in  a  crowded  ball-room,  till, 
stretching  out  again,  she  would  course  along,  dancing 
over  the  mimic  waves,  with  a  coquetry  equal  to  those 
same  fair  damsels,  when  they  find  an  unfortunate  wight 
secure  in  their  chains  We  were  all  in  fine  spirits ; 
Tom's  negro  boy,  seated  at  the  heel  of  the  foremast, 
showing  his  white  teeth,  in  a  delighted  grin,  as  old 
Kennedy,  with  his  grave  face,  played  off  nautical  wit 
at  his  peculiar  expense.  We  saw  a  number  of  ducks, 
but  they  were  so  shy  that  we  could  with  difficulty  get 
a  shot  at  them ;  but  we  now  and  then  succeeded  in 


THE     MEDICAL     8TVDBNT. 


picking  half  a  dozen  snipe  out  of  a  flockt  as  it  rose 
from  the  shorei  and  fiew  across  our  bows.  We  con- 
tinued running  down  the  river  in  this  way»  for  three  or 
four  hours,  passinr  low  and  then  a  fisherman^  or  other 
craft,  slowly  beating  up  ;  but  towards  noon  the  breeze 
slackened, — we  gradually  lost  our  way — merely  undu- 
lating, as  the  wind  fanned  by  us  in  light  airs,  till  finally 
it  entirely  subsided ;  our  long  pennant  hanging  supinely 
on  the  shrouds,  and  the  water  slopping  pettishly  against 
our  bows,  as  we  rested  tranquilly  upon  its  surface. 
The  after  part  of  the  yacht  was  covered  with  an 
awning,  which,  although  sufficiently  high  to  prevent 
fits  obstructing  the  view  of  the  helmsman,  afforded  us 
a  cover  from  the  rays  of  the  sun,  so  that  we  lay  con- 
tentedly, reclining  upon  the  cushions,  smoking  our 
cigars,  enjoying  our  refreshments,  and  reviving  old 
recollections  and  associations,  fdr  it  must  be  confessed 
that  we  three,  in  our  student  days,  had  '*  rung  the 
chimes  at  midnight."  I  had  not  seen  Lee  for  several 
years ; — he  was  a  descendant  of  the  celebrated  partizan 
officer,  wLo  commanded  the  dashing  corps  in  the  Re- 
volution known  as  Lee*s  Legion,  and  inherited,  in  a 
marked  degree,  all  the  lofty  courtesy  and  real  chivalry 
that  characterized  that  officer.  He  was  exceedingly 
well  read  in  the  military  history  of  the  country,  and 
indeed  so  thoroughly  imbued  with  military  spirit,  that 
should  the  signal  of  war  ring  through  the  country,  I 
know  of  no  man  whose  hand  would  so  soon  be  on  llie 


80 


THB     MEDICAL    STUDENT. 


Bword  hilt  and  foot  in  the  stirrup.  My  introduction  to 
his  acquaintance  ivas  marked  by  an  incident  so  pecu* 
liarly  painful  and  exciting  in  its  character,  that  I  can- 
not refrain  from  relating  it.  Having  been  let  loose 
from  the  care  of  my  guardians  at  a  very  early  age^  I 
made  the  first  use  of  my  liberty  in  travelling  in  a  good- 
for-nothing  sort  of  way  over  Europe,  determined  to 
see  for  myself,  the  grandeur  of  Old  England;  to 
climb  the  Alps  ,*  to  hear  the  romantic  legends  of  Ger- 
many,  in  her  own  dark  forests  ;  to  study  the  painters 
and  sculptors  of  Italy,  on  her  classic  soil ;  to  say  no- 
thing of  visions  of  dark-eyed  girls  of  Seville,  of  sylphs 
and  fairies,  floating  through  the  ballets  and  operas  of 
Paris,  and  midnight  adventures  in  the  gondolas  of  Ve- 
nice. Arriving  at  London,  I  fell  in  with,  and  gladly 
availed  myself  of  the  opportunity  to  take  apartments 
in  the  same  house  with  my  friend  Tom  and  his  fellow- 
student  Lee,  both  Americans,  and  both  completing  a 
course  of  medical  education  by  attending  the  lectures 
of  the  celebrated  John  Hunter. 

It  so  happened,  that  on  the  very  first  evening  that 
we  came  together,  in  conversation  upon  the  peculiar 
features  of  their  profession,  I  expressed  a  desire  to 
visit  a  dissecting-room,  never  having  been  in  one  in 
my  own  country.  Lee  immediately  invited  me  to  ac- 
company them  to  the  lecture  on  that  evening,  which 
was  to  be  delivered  in  the  rotunda  of  the  College,  and 
where,  by  going  at  an  early  hour,  my  curiosity  could 


THE    MEDICAL    ITUDENT. 


81 


be  satistied»  besides  the  opportunity  that  I  should  have 
of  hearing  that  eminent  surgeon.  So  pulling  on  our 
hats  and  taking  our  umbrellas  in  our  hands,  we  plunged 
into  the  dense  fog,  and  groped  our  way  over  the  greasy 
pavements  to  the  college.  It  was  a  large  building,  in 
a  dark  and  retired  court,  with  something  in  its  very 
exterior  sepulchral  and  gloomy.  Entering  the  hall 
door,  we  ascended  one  pair  of  stairs,  stopping  for  a 
moment  as  we  passed  the  second  story,  to  look  into 
the  large  rotunda  of  the  lecture  room.  The  vacant 
chair  of  the  professor  was  standing  near  the  wall  in  the 
[rear  of  a  circular  table  of  such  peculiar  construction, 
las  to  admit  of  elevation  and  depression  in  every  part. 
[This  table  was  the  one  upon  which  the  subjects  were 
laid  when  under  the  hands  of  the  demonstrator.  fi(  Two 
skeletons,  suspended  by  wires  from  the  ceiling,  hung 
directly  over  it ;  the  room  was  as  yet  unoccupied  and 
silent.  Ascending  another  flight  of  stairs,  we  came  to 
a  third,  secured  at  its  entrance  by  a  strong  oaken  door ; 
— this  appeared  to  put  a  stop  to  our  further  ascent,  but 
upon  a  small  bell  being  pulled,  a  sort  of  wicket  in  the 
I  upper  part  of  the  door  was  cautiously  drawn  asidOf 
discovering  the  features  of  a  stern,  solemn-looking  man, 
who,  apparently  satisfied  of  the  right  of  the  parties  to 
[enter,  drew  one  or  two  heavy  bolts,  and  dropping  a 
[chain  admitted  us.  A  small  table  was  placed  at  the 
foot  of  the  stairs,  at  w^hich,  by  the  light  of  a  lamp,  this 
gloomy  porter  was  perusiag  a  book  of  devotion.     As- 


mmmm 


82 


THE     MEDICAL     STUDENT 


cending  the  stairs,  it  was  not  until  three  several  afr- 
tempts,  that  I  was  enabled  to  surmount  the  effects  of 
the  effluvia  sufficiently  to  enter  the  green  baize  door 
that  opened  into  the  dissecting-room.  As  it  swung 
noiselessly  to  behind  me,  the  first  sensation  produced 
by  the  sight,  was  that  of  faintness ;  but  it  almost  imme- 
diately subsided.  There  appeared  a  sort  of  profanity 
in  speaking  aloud,  and  I  found  myself  unconsciously 
asking  questions  of  my  friends  in  a  low  whisper. 

On  small  narrow  tables,  in  different  parts  of  the 
large  room,  which,  though  lighted  by  a  dome  in  the 
centre,  required,  in  the  deep  darkness  of  aLondjon  fog, 
the  additional  aid  of  lamps,  were  extended  some  five 
and  twenty  human  corpses  in  different  stages  of  dissec- 
tion. Groups  of  students  were  silently  engaged  with 
their  scalpels  in  examining  these  wonderful  temples 
of  the  still  more  wonderful  human  soul.  Here  a  soli- 
tary individual,  with  his  book  open  before  him  upon 
the  corpse,  followed  the  text  upon  the  human  subject, 
while  there,  two  or  three  together  were  tracing  with 
patient  distinctness  the  course  of  the  disease  which 
had  driven  the  spirit  of  Ufe  from  its  frail  habitation.  I 
observed  one  of  the  professors  in  his  gold  spectacles 
pointing  out  to  a  number  of  the  students,  gathered 
around  one  of  the  subjects,  the  evidences  of  an  ossifi- 
cation of  the  great  aorta,  which  had,  after  years  of  tor- 
ture, necessarily  terminated  the  life  of  the  sufferer. — 
There  was  almost  as  much  individuality  in  those 


THB    MI  Die AL    STUDENT. 


88 


corpses  as  if  they  had  been  living)  and  it  required 
the  most  determined  effort  on  my  part  to  divest  myself 
of  the  idea  that  they  were  sentient,  and  aware  of  all 
that  was  passing  around  them.  I  recollect,  parucu^ 
larly,  one*  which  was  lying  nearest  the  door  as  I  en- 
tered ;•— it  was  the  body  of  a  man  of  about  forty,  with 
light  hair,  and  fair  complexion,  who  had  been  cut 
down  in  the  midst  of  health.  His  face  was  as  full,  and 
his  skin  as  white,  as  if  he  had  been  merely  sleeping ; 
but  the  knife  had  passed  around  his  throat,  down  his 
body,  and  then  in  sections  cross-ways ;  the  internal 
musclfs  having  been  evidently  exposed,  and  the  skin 
temporarily  replaced,  during  the  casual  absence  of  the 
dissector.  There  was  something  peculiarly  horrid  in 
the  appearance  of  thLt  corpse,  as,  aside  from  a  ruffianly 
and  dissolute  ^  expression  of  the  features,  the  gash 
around  his  throat  conveyed  the  impression  that  it  was 
a  murdered  man  lying  before  me.  A  good-looking* 
middle>aged  female  was  extended  just  beyond,  her 
long  hair  hanging  down  over  the  end  of  the  table,  but 
not  as  yet  touched  by  the  hand  of  the  surgeon ;  while, 
just  beyond  her,  the  body  of  an  old  man,  from  which 
the  upper  part  of  the  skull  had  been  sawn  to  take  out 
the  brain,  appeared  to  be  grinning  at  us  with  a  horrid 
sort  of  mirth.  In  another  part  of  the  room,  directly 
over  which  the  blackening  body  of  an  infant  was 
thrown  across  a  beam,  like  a  piece  of  an  old  carpet, 
was  extended  the  body  of  a  gigantic  negro  [  he  lay 

a 


\  ^ 


84 


THB    IISDZCAL    STUDENT. 


Upon  his  back,  his  legs  somewhat  apart,  one  of  his 
arms  thrown  up  so  as  to  rest  upon  the  top  of  his  head, 
his  eyes  wide  open,  his  nostrils  distended,  and  his 
teeth  clenched  in  a  hideous  grin.  There  was  such 
evidence  of  strength,  such  giant  development  of  mus- 
cle, such  appearance  of  chained  energy  and  ferocity 
ftbout  him,  that,  upon  my  soul,  it  seemed  to  me  every  mo- 
ment as  if  he  was  about  to  spring  up  with  a  frantic  yell, 
and  throw  himself  upon  us ;  and  wherever  I  went  about 
the  room,  my  eyes  still  involuntarily  turned,  expect- 
ing to  see  that  fierce  negro  drawing  up  his  legs  ready 
to  bound,  like  a  malignant  demon^  over  the  intervening 
space.  He  had  been  brought  home  for  murder  upon  the 
high  seas,  but  the  jail-fever  had  anticipated  the  hand 
of  the  executioner,  and  his  body  of  course  was  given 
over  to  the  surgeons.  A  far  different  object  lay  on 
the  floor  near  him ;  it  was  the  body  of  a  young  girl 
of  about  eleven  or  twelve  years  old.  The  poor  lit- 
tle creature  had  evidently  died  of  neglect,  and  her 
body  drawn  up  by  the  action  of  the  flexor  muscles  into 
the  form  of  a  bow,  stiffened  in  death,  rocked  forward 
and  backward  when  touched  by  the  foot ;  the  sunken 
blue  eyes  staring  sorrowfully  and  reproachfully  upon 
us  from  the  emaciated  features.  Beyond  her,  in  most 
savage  contrast,  was  thrown  the  carcass  of  a  Bengal 
tiger,  which  had  died  a  day  or  two  before  in  the  royal 
menagerie,  his  talons  extending  an  inch  beyond  his 
paws,  and  there  was  about  his  huge  distended  jaws 


THE     MEDICAL    STUDENT. 


«ft 


find  sickly  eyes,  as  perfect  a  portraitui'e  of  disease^ 
and  pain,  and  agony,  as  it  has  ever  been  my  lot  to 
witness  in  suflering  humanity.  There  was  no  levity 
about  the  students,  but,  on  the  contrary,  a  sort  of  solem- 
nity in  their  examinations ;  and  when  they  spoke,  it 
was  in  a  low  tone,  as  if  they  were  apprehensive  of 
disturbing  the  dead  around  them.  I  thought  at  the 
time  that  it  would  be  well  if  some  of  those  who  sneer 
at  the  profession,  could  look  in  upon  one  of  these  even 
minor  ordeals  to  which  its  followers  are  subjected  in 
their  efforts  to  alleviate  the  sufferings  of  their  fellow- 
men. 

As  the  hour  for  the  lecture  approached,  the  stu* 
dents, one  by  one,  closed  their  books,  washed  their 
hands,  and  descended  to  the  lecture-room.  We  de» 
scended  with  the  rest,  and  as  we  passed  the  grim  por* 
ter,  at  the  bottom  of  the  stair-case,  I  observed  in  the 
corner  behind  him  a  number  of  stout  bludgeons,  be* 
sides  several  cutlasses  and  muskets.  A  popular  com* 
motion  a  short  time  previous,  among  some  of  the  well- 
intentioned  but  ignorant  of  the  lower  classes,  had  in- 
duced the  necessity  of  caution,  and  this  preparation  for 
resistance.  Entering  the  lecture-room,  we  took  our 
places  on  the  third  or  fourth  row  of  seats  from  the  de<« 
monstruior's  table,  upon  which  a  subject  was  lying, 
covered  with  a  white  sheet,  and  had  time,  as  the  room 
gradually  filled,  to  look  about  us.  Besides  the  stu^ 
dents,  Lee  pointed  out  to  me  several  able  professional 


,0^0iiiimi.il^4m\ 


36 


THE    MEDICAL     STUDENT. 


gentlemen,  advanced  in  life,  who  were  attracted  hf 
the  celebrity  of  the  lecturer ;  among  others,  Abemethy 
and  Sir  Astley  Cooper.  Shortly  after  we  had  taken 
our  seats,  a  slender,  melancholy  looking  young  mant 
dressed  in  deep  mourning,  entered  the  circle  in 
which  we  were  seated,  and  took  his  place  on  the 
vacant  bench  at  my  side.  He  bowed  reservedly  to 
my  coiripanions  as  ho  passed  them,  but  immediately 
on  sitting  down  became  absorbed  in  de^p  sadness. 
My  friends  returned  his  salute,  but  did  not  appear  in^ 
clined  to  break  into  his  abstraction.  At  the  precise 
moment  that  the  lecture  was  announced  to  be  delivered, 
the  tall  form  of  the  eminent  surgeon  was  seen  de- 
scending the  alley  of  crowded  seats  to  his  chair.  The 
lights  in  the  various  parts  of  the  room  were  raised 
suddenly,  throwing  a  glare  on  all  around ;  and  one  of 
the  skeletons,  to  which  an  accidental  jar  had  been 
given,  vibrated  slowly  forward  and  backward,  while  the 
other  huiig  perfectly  motionless  from  its  cord.  In  his 
short  and  sententious  manner,  he  opened  the  subject  of 
the  lecture,  which  was  the  cause,  effect,  and  treatment 
of  that  scourge  of  our  country — consumption.  His 
remarks  were  singularly  lucid  and  clear,  even  to  me, 
a  layman.  After  having  gone  rapidly  through  the  pa- 
thology of  the  disease,  consuming  perhaps  some  twen- 
ty minutes  of  time,  he  said, — **  We  will  now,  gentle- 
men, proceed  to  demonstration  upon  the  subject  itself." 
I  shall  not  readily  forget  the  scene  that  followed.    As 


THB     MSDIOAL     STUDENT. 


87 


he  slowly  turned  up  the  wristbands  of  his  shirt  sleeves, 
and  bent  over  to  select  an  instrument  from  the  case  at 
his  side,  he  motioned  to  an  assistant  to  withdraw  the 
sheet  that  covered  the  corpse.  Resuming  his  erect 
position,  the  long  knife  glittering  in  his  hand,  the  sheet 
was  slowly  drawn  off,  exhibiting  the  emaciated  featuies 
of  an  aged  woman,  her  white  hair  parted  smoothly  in 
the  middle  of  her  forehead,  passing  around  to  the  back 
of  the  head,  beneath  the  plain  white  muslin  cap.  The 
silence  which  always  arrests  even  the  most  frivolous 
in  the  presence  of  the  dead,  momentarily  checked  the 
busy  hum  of  whispers  around  me,  when  I  heard  a  gasp 
—a  choking — a  rattling  in  the  throat,  at  my  side  ;  and 
the  next  instant,  the  young  man  sitting  next  to  me, 
rose  to  his  feet,  threw  his  arms  wildly  upwards,  and 
shrieking  in  a  tone  of  agony,  that  caused  every  man's 
heart  in  that  assembly,  momentarily  to  stop-—'*  My 
m-o-Uh-e-r !  " — plunged  prostrate  and  stiff,  head  fore- 
most upon  those  in  front  of  him.  All  was  instant  con- 
sternation and  confusion  ;<— there  was  one  present  who 
knew  him,  but  to  the  majority  of  the  students,  he  was 
as  much  a  stranger  as  he  was  to  my  friends.  He  was 
from  one  of  the  adjoining  parishes  of  London,  and 
two  weeks  before,  had  lost  his  mother,  to  whom  he  was 
much  attached,  and  by  fatal  mischance,  that  mother  lay 
extended  before  him,  upon  the  demonstrator's  table. 
He  was  immediately  raised,  but  entir^^ly  stiff  and  in- 
sensible, and  carried  into  an  adjoining  room ; — sufficient 


J'.|,w*#^'*-*'-»"» 


38 


THE     MEDICAL    STUDENT. 


animation  was  at  length  restored  to  enable  him  to  stand* 
but  he  stared  vacantly  about  him,  the  great  beads  of 
sweat  trickling  down  his  forehead,  without  a  particle 
of  mind  or  memory.  The  lecture  was  of  course  clos- 
ed, and  the  lifeless  corse  again  entrusted  to  hands 
to  replace  it  in  its  tomb.  The  young  mau,  on  the 
following  day,  was  brought  sufficiently  to  himself  to 
have  memory  present  the  scene  again  to  his  mind,  and 
fell  almost  immediately  into  a  raging  fever,  accompa- 
nied with  fierce  and  violent  delirium  ;  his  fever  grs  du- 
ally abated,  and  his  delirium  at  intervals  ;  but  whin  I 
left  London  for  the  continent,  three  months  after,  he 
was  rapidly  sinking  under  the  disease  which  carried 
off  his  mother — ^happily  in  a  state  of  helpless  and  sense- 
less idiocy ;  and  in  a  very  short  time  after,  death  re- 
lieved him  from  his  misery.  The  whole  scene  was  so 
thrilling  and  painful,  that,  connecting  it  in  some  mea^ 
sure  with  my  introduction  to  Lee,  his  presence  always 
recalled  it  to  my  memory. 


THE    RESURRECTIONISTS. 


As  we  returned  to  our  lodgings,  our  conversation 
naturally  turned  upon  the  agitating  event  that  we  had 
just  witnessed*  and  the  extreme  caution  necessary  in 
the  procuring  of  subjects  for  anatomical  examination. 
Lee  related  an  occurrence  that  had  happened  to 
Dr.  .  ,  a  gentleman  of  high  standing  in  South  Caro- 
lina. 

Shortly  after  the  American  revolution*  he  visited 
Europe  for  the  purpose  of  pursuing  his  medical  stu- 
dies, and  was  received  into  the  family  of  the  same 
distinguished  gentleman*  whom  we  had  just  heard  lec- 
ture* then  beginning  to  rise  to  eminence  and  notice ; 
an  advantage  which  was  necessarily  confined  to  a  very 
few.  In  oi^e  of  the  dark  and  stormy  nights  of  De« 
cember*  Mr.  Hunter  and  his  wife  having  been  called 
to  the  bedside  of  a  dying  relative  in  the  country,  as 

Dr. was  quietly  sitting  at  the  parlour  fire,  absorb- 

ed  in  his  studies,  he  was  aroused  by  a  hurried  ring  at 
the  street  door*  and  rising,  went  to  answer  it  himself. 
Upon  opening  the  door,  a  hackney  coach*  with  its  half- 
drowned  horses*  presented  itself  at  the  side  of  the 
walk*  and  two  men*  in  slouched  hats  and  heavy  sailor 
coals  dripping  with  watert  standing  upon  the  8tepa» 


•  .«>|MIW< 


40 


THE    RESURRECTIONISTS. 


inquired  in  a  low*  tone  if  he  wanted  a  subject.  Being 
answered  in  the  affirmative,  they  opened  the  carriage 
door,  lifted  out  the  body,  which  was  enveloped  in  a 
sack,  and  having  carried  it  up  stairs  to  the  dissecting- 
room,  which  was  in  the  garret,  received  the  two 
guineas  which  they  had  demanded,  and  withdrew. 
The  affair  was  not  unusual,  and  Dr.  ~—  resuming 
his  book,  soon  forgot  the  transaction.  About  eleven 
o'clock,  while  still  absorbed  in  his  studies,  he  heard  a 
violent  female  shriek  in  the  entry,  and  the  next  instant 
the  servant  maid,  dashing  open  the  door,  fell  senseless 
upon  the  carpet  at  his  feet,  the  candlestick  which  she 
held,  rolling  some  distance  as  it  fell. 

Perceiving  that  the  cause  of  alarm,  whatever  it 
might  be,  was  without,  he  caught  up  the  candlestick, 
and,  jumping  over  her  prostrate  form,  rushed  into  the 
hall  where  an  object  met  his  view  which  might  well 
have  tried  the  nerves  of  the  strongest  man.  Standing 
half-way  down  the  staircase,  was  a  fierce,  grim^looking 
man,  perfectly  naked,  his  eyes  glaring  wildly  and  fear- 
fully from  beneath  a  coarse  shock  of  dark  hair,  which, 
nearly  concealing  a  narrow  forehead,  partially  impeded 
a  .small  stream  of  blood  trickling  down  the  side  of  the 
face,  from  a  deep  scratch  in  the  temjile.  In  one  hand 
he  grasped  a  sharp  long  belt-knife,  such  as  is  used  by 
riggers  and  sailors,  the  other  holding  on  by  the  ban- 
nister, as  he  somewhat  bent  over  to  meet  the  gaze  of 
the  Doctor  rushing  into  the  entry.     The  truth  flashed 


1} 


THE    RB  8UR  REOTIONI8T8. 


41 


across  the  mind  of  Dr. in  an  instant,  and  with 

admirable  presence  f  mind,  he  made  one  spring,  catch- 
ing the  man  by  the  wrist  which  held  the  knife,  in  a 
way  that  effectually  prevented  his  using  it.  *'  In  the 
name  of  God !  where  am  I V*  demanded  the  man  in  a 
horror-stricken  voice,  "am  I  to  be  murdered?'*  "  Siv 
lence ! — ^not  a  whisper,"  sternly  answered  Dr.  — , 
looking  him  steadily  in  the  eyes — "  Silence — and 
your  life  is  safe/' — Wrenching  the  knife  from  his 
hand,  he  pulled  him  by  the  arm  passively  along  into 
the  yard,  and  hurrying  through  the  gate,  first  ran  with 
him  through  one  alley,  then  into  another,  and  finally 
rapidly  through  a  third,  till  coming  to  an  outlet  upon 
one  of  the  narrow  and  unfrequentsd  streets,  he  gave 
him  a  violent  push, — ^retracing  his  steps  again  on  the 
wings  of  the  wind,  pulling  too,  and  doubly  locking  the 
gate  behind  him,  leaving  the  object  of  his  alarm  per- 
fectly bewildered  and  perplexed,  and  entirely  ignorant 
of  the  place  from  whence  he  had  been  ro  summarily 
ejected.     The  precaution  and  presence   of  mind  of 

Dr. ,  most  probably  saved  the  house  of  Mr.  Hunter 

from  being  torn  down  and  sacked  by  the  mob,  which 
would  have  been  instantly  collected  around  it,  had 
the  aggrieved  party  known  where  to  have  led  them  to 
wreak  his  vengeance. 

After  a  few  days,  inquiry  was  carefully  and  cau- 
itiously  made  through  the  police,  and  it  was  ascertained 
I  that  three  men  answering  the  description  of  the  resur- 


( y. 


(  1 


4a 


THE     RESURRECTIONISTS 


rectionists  and  their  victim  had  been  drinking  deeply^ 
through  the  afternoon,  in  one  of  the  low  dens  in  the 
neighbourhood  of  Wapping ;  that  one  had  sunk  into  a 
stupid  state  of  intoxication)  and  hadt  in  that  situationt 
been  stripped  and  placed  in  a  sack  by  his  companions, 
«a  knife  having  been  previously  placed  in  his  hand  that 
he  might  relieve  himself  from  his  confinement  upon  his 
return  to  sensibility  ;  and  that  in  addition  to  the  poor 
wretch's  clothes,  they  had  realized  the  two  guineas 
for  his  body. 

It  is  certainly  painful,  that  the  requirements  of  suffer* 
ing  humanity  should  make  the  occasional  violation  of 
the  grave  indispensably  necessary.  Whether  the  spirit, 
released  from  its  confinement,  lies  in  the  limbo  of  the 
fathers,  the  purgatory  of  the  Catholics,  awaiting  the 
great  day  of  doom  ;  whether,  called  from  a  life  of  vir* 
tue,  all  time  and  distance  annihilated,  it  sweeps  free 
and  unconstrained  in  heavenly  delight  through  the 
injrriads  and  myriads  of  worlds,  rolling  in  the    vast 
sublimity  of  space ;  whether  summoned  from  a  course 
of  evil,  it  shudders  in  regions  of  darkness  and  desola- 
tion, or  writhes  in  agony  amid  flaming  atmospheres ; 
or  whether  its  germ  of  life  remains  torpid,  as  in  the 
wheat  taken  from  the  Egyptian  pyramids,  thousands 
of  years  existent,  but  apparently  not  sentient,  must» 
of  course,  be  to  us  but  the  wild  theories  of  imagina- 
tion, and  so  remain  until  that  judgment,  predicted  by 
the  holy  Revelation,  shall  sweep  away  the  darkness 


THE     RESURRECTIONISTS. 


43 


with  which,  in  inscrutable  and  awful  wisdom,  the  Al- 
mighty has  enveloped  us. 

But  that  the  spirit  can  look  with  other  than  indiffer- 
ence, if  not  loathing,  on  the  perishing  exuviae  of  its 
chrysalis  existence,  which,  to  its  retrospective  gaze, 
presents  little  other  than  a  tasking  house  of  base  ne« 
cessities,  a  chained  prison  of  cruel  disappointments, 
even  to  our  human  reason,  clogged  as  it  is  with  bars 
and  contradictions,  appears  hardly  to  admit  the  opportu- 
nity of  question,  and  of  consequence  to  that  spirit  its 
disposition  can  but  be  a  matter  of  indifference.  Still,  to 
the  surviving  friends,  whose  affection  cannot  separate 
mind  from  matter,  those  forms  lying  in  the  still  and 
silent  tomb,  retain  all  their  dear  associations,  and  sure* 
iy  it  most  gravely  becomes  the  members  of  that  pro- 
fession, which,  next  to  the  altar,  stands  foremost  in 
benevolence,  that  the  deepest  prudence  should  be  ex- 
ercised in  this  gloomy  rite  required  by  the  living  from 
the  dead. 


'\ 


I 


OLD  KENNEDY, 
THE  QUARTER-MASTER. 

(ConatitutioQ  and  Guerriere.) 

No.  I. 

The  sun  became  more  and  more  powerful  as  it 
ascended  towards  the  meridian,  and  was  reflected  with 
effulgent  intensity  from  the  mirror-surface  of  the  river. 
As  we  bent  over  the  side  and  looked  far  down  into  the 
deep  vault  reflected  from  above,  and  saw  our  gallant 
little  yacht,  with  her  white  sails  and  dark  hull,  suspend- 
ed with  even  minute  tracery  over  it»  we  could  almost 
imagine  ourselves  with  the  Ancient  Mariner,  *'  in  a 
painted  ship  upon  a  painted  ocean."— -The  white  sand- 
banks quivered  and  palpitated  in  the  sultry  glare,  and 
the  atmosphere  of  the  adjoining  swamps  hung  over 
them  in  a  light  blue  vapour  ;  the  deadly  miasma,  their 
usual  covering,  dissipated  in  the  fervent  heat ;  while 
the  silence  was  unbroken*  save  by  the  occasional 
•cream  of  the  gull,  as  it  wheeled  about  in  pursuit  of  its 
prey,  or  the  quick  alarmed  cry  of  the  kingfisher,  hastily 
leaving  some  dead  branch  upon  the  shore  to  wing  its 
way  farther  from  the  object  of  its  terror.     The  black 


OLD  KSNiriDY,  THE  QUARTER-MA8TIR.      45 

boy,  in  perfect  negro  elysium,  lay  stretched  fast  asleep, 
with  his  arm  resting  upon  one  of  the  dogs*  in  the 
blazing  sun  on  the  forecastle,  whih  we  ourselves,  re- 
clined upon  the  cushions,  with  our  refreshments  be- 
fore us,  indolently  puffed  our  cigars  under  the  awning, 
Old  Kennedy,  perched  upon  the  taffrail,  coxswain 
fashion,  with  the  tiller  between  his  legs.  •  While 
thus  enjoying  ourselves,  like  true  disciples  of  Epicu- 
rus, the  guitar  was  taken  from  its  case  in  the  cabin, 
and  accompanied  by  the  rich  tones  of  Walter  Lee : 
"  Here's  a  health  to  thee,  Mary,"  in  compliment  to  our 
kind  hostess,  swept  over  the  still  surface  of  the  river, 
till,  dissipated  in  the  distance,  and  anon  the  **  Wild 
Huntsman,"  and  **  Here's  a  health  to  all  good  lassies," 
shouted  at  the  pitch  of  three  deep  bass  voices,  bounded 
over  the  banks,  penetrating  the  deep  forest,  causing 
the  wild  game  to  spring  from  their  coverts  in  con- 
sternation at  such  unusual  disturbance  of  its  noontide 
stillness.  *<  We  bade  dull  care  be  gone,  and  daft  the 
time  aw«y."  Old  Kennedy,  sea|:ed  at  the  tiller,  his 
grey  haur  smoothed  down  aa  one  side,  and  almost  fall- 
ing into  his  eyes,  his  cheek  distended  with  a  huge 
quid  of  tobacco,  which  gave  an  habitual  drag  to  a  mouth 
whose  expression  indicated  surlv  honesty  and  resolu- 
tion, was  a  perfect  portrait  of  many  an  old  quarter- 
master, still  in  the  service;  while  his  scrupulously 
clean  shirt,  with  its  blue  collar  open  at  the  neck,  dis- 
covering a  rugged  throat,  encircled  by  a  ring  of  grey 


46 


OLD     KENNEDTy 


hairs,  and  his  white  canvass  trowsers,  as  tight  at  the 
hips  as  they  were  «gregiou8ly  large  at  the  ancles,  in- 
liicated  the  rig  in  which  he  had  turned  np,  for  the  last 
thirty  years,  to  Sunday  muster.  The  old  seaman  had 
seen  a  great  deal  of  service,  having  entered  the  navy 
at  the  opening  of  the  difficulties  with  the  Barbary 
powers,  and  had  been  engaged  in  several  of  the  signal 
naval  actions  which  followed  in  the  subsequent  war 
with  Great  Britain.  Previous  to  that  time,  he  had 
been  in  the  employ  of  Tom's  father,  who  was  an  ex- 
tensive shipping  merchant  at  Alexandria,  and  now,  in 
his  old  age,  influenced  by  an  attachment  for  the  son, 
who  had  built  a  snug  cottage  for  him  on  his  estate,  and, 
vested  with  the  full  control  of  the  yacht,  he  had  been 
induced  to  come  down  to  spend  the  remainder  of  his 
days  on  the  banks  of  the  Potomac,  enjoying  the  pension 
awarded  by  government  for  the  loss  of  his  arm. 

I  had  previously  had  the  hint  given  me,  that  a  little 
adroit  management  would  set  him  to  spinning  a  yam 
which  would  suit  my  fancy.  So,  watching  a  good  op» 
portunity,  knowing  that  the  old  man  had  been  with 
Hull  in  his  fight  with  the  Ouerriere,  I  successfully  gave 
a  kick  to  the  ball  by  remarking,  "  You  felt  rather  un- 
comfortable, Kennedy,  did  you  not,  as  you  were  bea^ 
ing  down  on  the  Guerriere,  taking  broadside  and 
broadside  from  her,  without  returning  a  shot.  You 
had  time  to  think  of  your  sins,  my  good  fellow,  as  con- 
science had  you  at  the  gangway  V*    **  Well,  sir,"  re- 


THE     QUARTER-MASTER. 


4t 


ow,  as  con* 


plied  he,  deliberately  rolling  his  tobacco  from  one  side 
of  his  mouth  to  the  other,  squirting  the  juice  through 
his  front  teeth  with  true  nautical  grace — **  Well,  sir» 
that  ere  was  the  first  frigate  action  as  ever  I  was  en- 
gaged in,  and  I  am  free   to    confess,  I  overhauled 
the  log  of  my  conscience  to  see  how  it  stood,  so  it 
mought  be  I  was  called  to  muster  in  the  other  world  in 
a  hurry ;  but  I  don't  think  any  of  his  shipmates  will 
say  that  Old  Bill  Kennedy  did  his  duty  any  the  worse 
that  day,  because  he  thought  of  his  God,  as  he  has 
many  a  time  since  at  quarters.    There's  them  as  says 
the  chaplain  is  paid  for  the  reli^on  of  the  ship,  and  it's 
none  of  the  sailor's  business ;  but  I  never  seen  no  harm 
in  an  honest  seaman's  thinking  for  himself.  Howdsom« 
«ver,  I  don't  know  the  man  who  can  stand  by  his  gun 
at  such  time,  tackle  cast  loose,  decks  sanded,  matches 
lighted,  arm-chests  thrown  open,  yards  slung,  marines 
in  the  gangways,  powder-boys  passing  ammunition 
buckets,  ship  as  still  as  death,  officers  in  their  iron« 
bound  boarding  caps,  cutlashes  hanging  by  lanyards  at 
their  wrists,  standing  like  statues  at  divisions,  enemy  • 
may-be  bearing  down  on  the  weather-quarter — I  say, 
I  does'nt  know  the  man  at  sich  time,  as  won't  take  a 
fresh  bite  of  his  quid,  and  give  a  hitch  to  the  waist- 
bands of  his  trowsers,  as  he  takes  a  squint  at  the  ene- 
my through  the  port  as  he  bears  down.     And  as  you 
say  at  that  particular  time,  the  Guerriere  (as  is  French 
for  soger)  was  wearing  and  maneuvering,  and  throw- 


48 


OLD     KBNNIDTi 


ing  her  old  iron  into  us,  broadside  and  broad^iide,  like 
as  I  have  seen  them  Italians  in  Naples  throw  sugar- 
plums at  each  other  in  Carnival  time. — Afore  she  was 
through,  tho',  she  found  it  was  no  sugar-plum  work, 
so  far  as  Old  Ironsides  was  consarned.  You  obsarve* 
when  we  first  made  her  out,  we  seen  she  was  a  large 
ship  close  hauled  on  the  starboard  tack ;  so  we  gave 
chase,  and  when  within  three  miles  of  her,  took  in  all 
our  light  sails,  hauled  courses  up,  beat  to  quarters  and 
got  ready  for  action.  She  wore  and  manceuvered  for 
some  time,  endeavouring  to  rake,  but  not  making  it  out, 
bore  up  under  her  jib,  and  topsails,  and  gallantly 
waited  for  us.  Well,  sir — as  we  walked  down  to  her, 
there  stands  the  old  man,  (Hull)  his  swabs  on  his 
shoulders,  dressed  as  fine  in  his  yellow  nankin  vest 
and  breeches,  as  if  he  was  going  ashore  on  leaver- 
there  he  stands,  one  leg  inside  the  hammock  nettings, 
taking  snufi"  out  of  his  vest  pocket,  watching  her  ma- 
noeuvres, as  she  blazed  away  like  a  house  a-fire,  just  as 
cool  as  if  he  was  only  receiving  complimentary  sa- 
•  lutes.  She  burnt  her  brimstone,  and  was  noisy — but 
never  a  gun  fires  we.  Old  Ironsides  poked  her  nose 
steady  right  down  for  her,  carrying  a  bank  of  foam 
under  her  bows  like  a  feather-bed  cast  loose.  Well, 
as  we  neared  her,  and  she  wears  first  a-star-board,  and 
then  a-larboard,  giving  us  a  regular  broadside  at  every 
tack,  her  shot  first  falls  short,  but  as  we  shortened  the 
distance,  some  of  them  begins  to  come  a-board — first 


THE     QUARTER-MASTER. 


40 


among  the  rigging,  and  cuts  away  some  of  the  stuflf 
aloft,  for  them  Englishmen  didn't  larn  to  fire  low  till 
we  larnt  'em.  First  they  comeS  in  aloft,  but  by-and-by, 
m  comes  one — ^lower — crash — through  the  bulwarks, 
making  the  splinters  fly  like  carpenter's  chips, — then 
another,  taking  a  gouge  out  of  the  main-mast ;  and 
pretty  soon  agin— •*cAi7' — I  recollects  the  sound  of 
that  ere  shot  well — '  chit' — another  dashed  past  my 
ear,  and  glancing  on  a  gun-carriage,  trips  up  the  heels 
of  three  as  good  men  as  ever  walked  the  decks  of  that 
ere  ship  ;  and  all  this  while,  never  a  gun  fires  we ; 
but  continues  steadily  eating  our  way  right  down  on  to 
his  quarter*  the  old  man  standing  in  the  hammock 
nettings,  watching  her  movements  as  if  she  was  merely 
playing  for  his  amusement.  Well,  as  we  came  within 
carronade  distance,  them  shot  was  coming  on  board 
rather  faster  than  mere  fun,  and  some  of  the  young 
sailors  begins  to  grumble,  and  by-and-by,  the  old  men- 
of-wars-men  growled  too,  and  worked  rusty — cause 
why — they  sees  the  enemy's  mischief,  and  nothing 
done  by  us  to  aggravate  them  in  return.  Says  Bill 
Vinton,  the  vent-holder,  to  me,  *  I  say,  Kennedy,'  says 
he,  *  what's  the  use — if  this  here's  the  way  they  fights 
frigates,  dam'me  !  but  I'd  rather  be  at  it  with  the  Turks 
agin,  on  their  own  decks  as  we  was  at  Tripoli.  It's 
like  a  Dutch  bargain — all  on  one  side.  I  expects  the 
next  thing,  they'll  order  pipe  down,  and  man  the  side- 
ropes  for  that  ere  Englishman  to  come  aboard  and  call 
4 


\\ 


00 


OLD    KENNEDY, 


•  t 


the  muster-roil.'  *  Avast  a  bit,'  says  I ;  <  never  you 
fear  the  old  man.  No  English  press-gang  comes  on 
board  this  ship— old '  Blow-hard  knows  what  he's 
about.' 

*•  Well,  by-and-by  Mr.  Morris,  our  first  lieutenant, 
who  all  the  while  had  been  walking  up  and  down 
the   quarter-deck,   his  trumpet  under  his   arm,   and 
his  eyes  glistening  like  a  school-boy's  just  let  out  to 
play ;  by-ai.d-by  he  begins  to  look  sour,  'ticularly  when 
he  sees  his  favourite  coxswain  of  the  first  cutter  carried 
by  a  shot  through  the  opposite  port.     So  he  first  looks 
hard  at  the  Old  Man,  nnd  then  walks  up  to  him,  and 
says  by  way  of  a  hint,  in  a  low  tone,  *  The  ship  is 
ready  for  action,  sir,  and  the  men  are  getting  impa- 
tient ;'— -the  Old  Man  never  turns,  but  keeps  his  eye 
steadily  on  the  enemy,  while  he  replies,  *  Are — you — 
all  ready,  Mr.  Morris  V — '  All  ready,  sir,* — says  the 
lieutenant — <  Don't  fire  a  gun  till  I  give  the  orders, 
Mr.  Morris,' — says  the  old  man.     Presently  up  comes 
a  mi(3:ihipman  from  the  main-deck,  touches  his  hat — 
•  First  division  all  ready,  sir,— the  second  lieutenant 
reports  fhe  enemy's  shot  have  hurt  his  men,  and  he  can 
with  difficulty  restrain  them  from  returning  their  fire ;' 
— *  Tell  him  to  wait  for  orders,  Mr.  Morris,'  says  the 
old  man  again — never  turning  his  head.    Well — ^just, 
you  see,  as  the  youiig  gentleman  turned  to  go  below, 
and  another  shot  carries  off  Mr.  Bush,  lieutenant  of  ma- 
rines— -just  a&  we  begins  to  run  into  their  smoke,  and 


THE    QUARTER-MAST BR. 


even  the  old  gun-boat  men,  as  had  been  with  Decatur 
and  Somers,  begins  to  stare,  up  jumps  the  old  man  in 
the  air,  slaps  his  hand  on  his  thigh  with  a  report  like  a 
pistol,  and  roars  out  in  a  voice  that  reached  the  gunners 
in  the  magazines — *  Now,  Mr.  Morris,  give  it  to  them, 
—now  give  it  to  them — fore  and  aft — round  and  grape- 
give  it  to  'em,  sir — give  it  to  'em,'  and  the  words  was 
scarce  out  of  his  mouth,  before  our  whole  broadside 
glanced  at  half  pistol  shot — the  old  ship  trembling  from 
her  keel  to  her  trucks,  like  an  aspen,  at  the  roar  of  her 
own  batteries — instantly  shooting  ahead  and  doubling 
across  his  bows,  we  gave  him  the  other  with  three 
cheers,  and  then  at  it  we  went — regular  hammer  and 
tongs.  You  would  a  thought  you  were  in  a  thunder 
storm  in  the  tropics,  from  the  continual  roar  and  flash 
of  the  batteries.  In  ten  minutes,  his  mizen-mast  went 
by  the  board.  '  Hurrah ! '  ahouts  the  old  man ; 
*  hurrah,  boys,  we've  made  a  brig  of  her. — Fire 
low,  never  mind  their  top  hamper !  hurrah !  we'll 
make  a  sloop  of  her  before  we've  done.*  "In  ten 
minutes  more  over  went  her  mainmast,  carrying 
twenty  men  overboard  as  it  went ;  and  sure  enough, 
sir,  in  thirty  minutes,  that  ere  Englishman  was  a  sheer 
hulk,  smooth  as  a  canoe,  not  a  spar  standing  but  his 
bowsprit ;  and  his  decks  so  completely  swept  by  our 
grape  and  cannister,  that  there  was  barely  hands 
enough  left  to  haul  down  the  colours,  as  they  had 
bravely  nailed  to  the  stump  of  their  main-mast.    *I 


i  \ 


52      OLD   KENNEDY)   THE   QU  ABTER-MASTBR  • 

sayf  Kennedy,'  says  the  vent-holder  to  me,  lying  across 
the  gun  after  she  struck,  looking  out  at  the  wrack 
through  the  port,  and  his  nose  was  as  black  as  a  nig- 
ger's from  the  powder  flashing  under  it — *  I  say,  I 
-wonder  how  that  ere  Englishman  likes  the  smell  of  the 
Did  man's  snuff.'" 


OLD  KENNEDY, 
THE  QUARTER-MASTER. 


(Sailors  Ashore.— Hornet  and  Peacock.) 


No.  II. 


"  Well — well — sailors,  is  queer  animals  any  how — 
and  always  ready  for  a  fight  or  frolic — and,  so  far  as 
I  sees,  it  don't  much  matter  which.     Now,  there  was 

Captain ,  he  was  a  ^   ^uteuant  then ; — I  was  up  in 

a  draft  of  men,  with  him  to  the  lakes  in  the  war,  and  as 
there  was  no  canals  nor  steamboats  in  them  days,  they 
marched  us  up  sojer  fashion.  As  we  marched  along  the 
road,  there  was  nothing  but  skylarking  and  frolic  the 
whole  time, — never  a  cow  lying  in  the  road  but  the 
lads  must  ride,  nor  a  pig,  but  they  must  have  a  pull  at 
his  tail.  I  recollects,  once't,  as  wo  was  passing  a 
farm  yard,  Jim  Albro,  as  was  alongside  of  me — what 
does  Jim  do,  but  jumps  over  the  fence  and  catches  a 
goose  out  of  the  pond,  and  was  clearing  with  it  under 
his  arm,  but  the  farmer,  too  quick  for  him,  grabs  his 
musket  out  of  his  door,  and  levelling  at  Jim,  roars  out 
to  drop  the  goose.  Jim  catches  the  goose's  neck  tight 
in  his  hand,  as  it  spraddles  under  his  arm,  and  then 


54 


OLD     KENNEDY, 


> 


turning  his  head  over  his  shoulder,  cries  out, '  You  Jlre, 
— I'll  wring  his  neck  off.'  And  so  Jim  would  have 
got  off  with  the  goose,  but  one  of  the  officers  seeing 
what  was  going  on,  orders  Jim  to  drop  the  goose,  and 
have  a  care  how  he  aggravates  the  honest  farmers  in 
that  ere  sort  of  a  way  ;  for,  *  By  the  powers  !'  said  he, 
*  Mister  Jim  Albro— this  isn't  the  first  time,  and  if  I 
hear  of  the  like  agin  from  you, — but  your  back  and  the 
boatswain's  mate  shall  scrape  an  acquaintance  the  first 
moment  we  come  within  the  smell  of  a  tarred  ratlin/, 

**  It  was  wrong,  to  be  sure,  for  Bill  to  take  the  man's 
goose,  seeing  as  how  it  was  none  of  his  ;  but  theve  was 
one  affair  that  same  day,  as  the  lads  turned  up  to,  and 
though  a  steady  man,  I'm  free  to  confess  I  had  a  hand 
in't.  Why,  what  do  you  think  sir,  but  as  we  what  was 
bound  for  to  fight  the  battles  of  our  country — what  do 
you  think,  but  as  we  comes  to  one  of  them  big  gates 
they  has  on  the  roads,  but  the  feller  as  keeps  it, 
damme,  sir,  what  does  he  do  ?  but  makes  all  fast,  and 
swear  that  we  sha*nt  go  through  without  paying  !  I'm 
free  to  confess,  sir,  that  that  ere  gate  went  off  its  hinges 
a  little  quicker  than  the  chain  of  our  best  bower  ever 
run  through  the  hawse  hole.  A  cummudgeonly  son  of 
a  land  lubber, — as  if,  because  we  did'nt  wear  long-tail 
coats,  and  high-heel  boots,  we  was  to  pay  like  horses 
and  oxen !  If  the  miserable  scamp  had'nt  've  van- 
ished  like  a  streak  into  the  woods,  we'd  have  paid  him 
out  of  his  own  tar  bucket,  and  rolled  him  over  in  the 


THE    QUARTER-MASTER. 


65 


feathers  of  one  of  his  wife's  own  beds.  But,  d'ye  see, 
that  was'nt  the  end  of  it.  Them  ere  lawyers  gets 
hold  of  it — and  it  was  the  first  time  any  of  them  land- 
shirks'  ever  came  athwart  my  hawse. 

"  When  we  gets  to  the  next  town,  up  comes  a  con- 
stable to  the  midshipman,  supposing  as  how  he  was  in 
command  of  the  draft — up  comes  the  constable,  and 
says,  says  he,  *  Capting,  I  arrests  you  for  a  salt  and 
battery,  in  behalf  of  these  here  men,  as  has  committed 
it,'  meaning)  you  understand,  the  affair  of  the  gatOi 
Well,  the  midshipman,  all  ripe  for  frolic  and  fun  him- 
self, pulls  a  long  face,  and  says  gruffly,  that  his  men 
had'nt  been  engaged  in  no  salt,  on  no  battery  ;  but  that 
they  was  ready  at  all  times  to  fight  for  their  country, 
and  asks  him  whereaway  that  same  English  battery 
lay,  as  he  would  answer  for  the  lads'  salting  it  quick 
enough.  Then  the  lawyer  as  was  standing  with  his 
hands  behind  him,  up  and  tells  him  that  **  it's  for  a  tres- 
pass in  the  case.'  <  Oh !  a  trespass  in  the  gate — 
you  mean,'  says  the  midshipman ;  but  just  then  the 
lieutenant  comes  up  to  see  what's  the  muss,  and  bids 
me  put  on  my  jacket,  for  d'ye  sec,  I  had  squared  oflf  to 
measure  the  constable  for  a  pair  of  black  eyes — hang 
me  if  the  feller  didnt't  turn  as  white  as  a  sheet.  *  Put 
on  your  jacket,  sir,'    says  he,    *and  leave  the  man 

alone;'  and  then  turning  to  the  midshipman,  *Mr. , 

take  the  men  down  to  the  tavern  and  splice  the  main- 
brace,  while  I  walk  up  to  the  jusiloe's  with  the  gentle 


56 


OLD     KE  NN  E  DTf 


man  to  settle  this  affair.  And,  hark'ee,  ye  rascals/ 
says  he,  *  don't  disgrace  the  name  of  blue  jacket  in 
this  quiet  village,  but  behave  yourselves  till  I  return.' 
Well,  he  and  the  lawyer  walks  up  to  the  justice's,  and 
there  they  three  takes  a  glass  of  wine  together,  and 
that's  the  last  we  hearn  of  that  eie  business. 

♦♦  There  agin,  when  we  took  the  Peacock ; — you  all 
knows  about  that  ere  action  ;  it  was  what  I  calls  short 
and  sweet.  Fifteen  minutes  from  the  first  gim,he  was 
cut  almost  entirely  to  pieces,  his  main-mast  gone  by 
the  board,  six  feet  of  water  in  the  hold,  and  his  flag 
flying  in  the  fore-rigging,  as  a  signal  of  distress.  The 
sea  was  running  so  heavy,  as  to  wash  the  muzzles  of 
our  guns,  as  we  run  down.  We  exchanged  broad- 
sides at  hclf  pistol  shot,  and  then,  as  he  wore  to  rake  us, 
we  received  his  other  broadside,  running  him  close  in 
upon  the  starboard  quarter,  and  a  drunken  sailor  never 
hugged  a  post  closer,  nor  we  did  that  brig,  till  we 
had  hammered  day-light  out  of  her.  A  queer  thing  is 
war,  though,  and  I  can't  say  as  I  was  ever  satisfied  as 
to  its  desarts,  though  I  've  often  turned  the  thing 
over  in  my  mind  in  mid-watch  since.  There  was  we, 
what  was  stowing  our  round  shot  into  that  ere  brig,  as 
if  she  had  been  short  of  kenteledge,  and  doing  all  we 
could  to  sweep,  with  our  grape  and  cannister,  every 
thing  living,  from  her  decks, — there  was  we,  fifteen 
minutes  after,  working  as  hard  as  we  could  pull  to,  to 
keep  her  above  water,  while  we  saved  her  wounded, 


THE     QUARTER-MASTER. 


67 


and  the  prisoners,  like  as  she  had  been  an  unfortunate 
wrack,  foundering  at  sea.  But  all  would'nt  do — down 
she  went,  carrying  thirteen  of  her  own  wounded,  be- 
sides some  of  our  own  brave  lads,  as  was  exerting 
themselves  to  save  them,  and  mighty  near  did  Bill 
Kennedy  come  to  being  one  of  the  number,  and  having 
a  big  D  marked  agin  his  name,  on  the  purser's  book, 
at  that  same  time.  The  moment  she  showed  signals 
of  distress,  all  our  boats  was  put  in  requisition  to 
transport  the  prisoners  and  wounded  to  the  Hornet. 
I  was  in  the  second  cutter,  with  midshipman  C  j 

he  was  a  little  fellow  then,  tho'  he's  a  captain  now. 
Well,  we  stowed  her  as  full  as  she  could  stow,  and  I 
was  holding  on  by  the  boat-hook  in  the  bows,  jist  ready 

to  push  off,  when  midshipman  C ,  jumps  aboard 

agin,  and  runs  back  to  call  a  couple  of  the  Englishmen, 
as  was  squared  off  at  each  other,  at  the  foot  of  the 
main  hatch  ladder,  settling  some  old  grudge — (for  d'ye 
see,  sir,  all  di^cyplire  is  over  the  moment  a  ship  strikes) 
— he  runs  back  to  tell  them  to  clear  themselves — for 
the  ship  was  sinking, — but  before  he  could  reach  it, 
she  rolls  heavily,  sways  for  an  instant  from  side  to  side, 
givea  a  heavy  lurch,  and  then,  down  she  goes  head 
foremost,  carrying  them  fellers  as  was  squared  off  agin 
each  other,  and  her  own  wounded,  besides  four  or  five 
of  our  own  brave  lads,  right  down  in  the  vortex.  Our 
boat  spun  round  and  round  like  a  top,  for  a  moment,  and 
then  swept  clear,  but  the  midshipman  barely  saved 


68      OLD   KENNBDYi   THE    QUARTER-MASTER. 

himself,  by  springing  into  an  empty  chest  as  was  float, 
ing  by,  and  there  he  was  dancing  about  in  the  heavy  sea, 
like  a  gull  in  the  surf*  and  it  was  nigh  on  two  hours 
afore  we  picked  him  up ;  but  the  little  fellow  was  jist 
as  cool  and  unconsarned,  as  if  he  was  in  a  canoe  on  a 
fish-pond.  The  next  day  we  opens  a  subscription,  and 
furnishes  all  the  British  seamen  with  two  shirts,  and 
a  blue  jacket  and  trowsers  each, — cause  why — d'ye 
see,  they'd  lost  all  their  traps  in  their  ship  when  she 
went  down." 


\ 


OLD  KENNEDY, 
THE   QUARTER. MASTER. 


(Perry's  Victory  on  Lake  Erie.) 


No.  III. 


"  But,'*  says  I,  "Kennedy — I  think  you  -aid  your 
draft  was  bound  for  the  lakes — which  did  you  gc  to, 
Ontario, or  Erie  ?'*  '*I  was  on  both, sir,"  says  he,  *'  ?>  ore 
the  war  was  over ;  and  we  got  as  much  a  "fistomed  to 
poking  our  flying  jib-boom  into  the  tries  on  them 
shores,  as  if  the  sticks  was  first  cousins — which,  see- 
ing as  how  the  ships  was  built  in  the  woods,  would'nt 
be  much  of  a  wonder.  Part  of  that  ere  draft  staid 
down  on  Ontario,  with  the  old  commodore,  as  was 
watching  Sir  James,  and  part  was  sent  up  to  Erie.  I 
went  up  to  Erie  and  joined  the  Lawrence,  Commodore 
Oliver  H.  Perry — and  I  hope"  that  old  Bill  Kennedy 
need'ntbe  called  a  braggart,  ii  '.o  says  he  did  his  part 
in  showing  off  as  handsome  a  fight  on  that  same  fresh- 
water pond,  as  has  ever  been  done  by  an  equal  force 
on  blue  water.  Our  gallant  young  commodore,  made 
as  tight  a  fight  of  it  as  it  has  ever  been  my  luck  to  be 
engaged  in ;  and  seeing  as  how  half  of  his  men  was 


60 


OLD     KEN  NE  D  Y» 


down  with  fever  and  ager,  and  not  one  in  a  dozen 
knew  the  difference  between  the  smell  of  gun-powder 
and  oil  of  turpentine,  blow  me !  but  I  think  it  was 
about  as  well  done. 

"  You  see  our  squadron  was  lying  in  a  bay,  as  they 
calls  Put.in-Bay — and  when  the  enemy  first  hove  in 
sight,  it  was  in  the  morning,  about  seven  o'clock.  I 
knows  that  that  was  the  time,  because  I  had  just  been 
made  Quarter- Master,  by  Captain  Perry,  and  was  the 
first  as  seen  them  through  my  glass.  They  was  in  the 
nor'- west,  bearing  down :  as  soon  as  we  made  them 
out  to  be  the  enemy's  fleet,  up  went  the  signal  to  get 
under  way ;  our  ship,  the  Lawrence,  in  course  tak- 
ing the  lead.  Well,  .as  we  was  working  slowly  to 
windward  to  clear  some  small  islands — one  of  'em  was 
Snake  Island — I  hearn  Captain  Perry  come  up  to  the 
master,  and  ask  him  in  a  low  voice,  whether  he  thought 
he  should  be  able  to  work  out  to  windward  in  time  to 
get  the  weather-gage  of  the  enemy ;  but  the  master 
said  as  how  the  wind  was  sou'-west,  and  light,  and  he 
did'nt  think  he  could.  *  Then,'  said  the  commodore, 
aloud,  *  wear  ship,  sir,  and  go  to  leeward,  for  I  am 
determined  to  fight  them  to-day,'— but  just  then,  the 
wind  came  round  to  the  south'ard  and  east'erd,  and  we 
retained  the  weather-gage,  and  slowly  bore  down  upon 
the  enemy.  They  did  all  they  could  to  get  the  wind, 
but  not  succeeding,  hove  into  line,  heading  westward, 
and  gallantly  waited  for  us  as  we  came  down.      '^ 


THE     QUARTER-MASTER 


'61 


**  There  lay  their  squadron,  all  light  sails  taken  in, 
just  like  a  boxer,  with  his  sleeves  rolled  up,  and  hand- 
kercher  tied  about  his  loins,  ready  to  make  a  regular 
stand-up  fight,  and  there  wasn't .  braver  man,  nor  bet- 
ter sailor,  in  the  British  navy,  nor  that  same  Barclay, 
whose  broad  pennant  floated  in  the  van  of  that  squad- 
ron. 

"  Pretty  soon,  up  runs  our  motto-flag,  the  dying  words 
of  our  hero  Lawrence — *  DonH  give  up  the  shipf*  and 
floats  proudly  from  our  main,  anr"  then  the  general  order 
was  passed  down  the  line  by  trumpet,  '  Each  ship,  lay 
your  enemy  alongside^ — and  if  you  ever  seen  a  flock 
of  wild  geese  flying  south' erd  in  the  fall  of  the  year, 
you'll  have  some  idee  of  us,  as  we  went  down  into 
action.  The  men  was  full  of  spirit,  and  panting  for 
a  flght,  and  even  them  as  was  so  sick,  as  to  be  hardly 
able  to  stand,  insisted  upon  taking  their  places  at  the 
guns.  I  recollects  one  in  particular — he  was  a  car- 
penter's mate,  a  steady  man,  from  Newport — ^he  crawls 
up  when  we  beat  to  quarters,  and  seats  himself  upon 
the  head  of  one  of  the  pumps,  with  the  sounding-rod 
in  his  hand,  looking  as  yellow  as  if  he  had  just  been 
dragged  out  of  a  North  Carolina  cypress  swamp  :  but 
one  of  the  officers  comes  up  to  him  as  he  was  sitting 
there,  and  says—*  You  are  too  sick  to  be  here,  my  man, 
—there's  no  use  of  your  being  exposed  for  nothing — 
you  had  better  go  below.'  •  If  you  please,  sir,"  says 
the  poor  fellow,  *  if  I  can  do  nothing  else,  I  can  save 


62 


OLD   EENNEDT, 


the  time  of  a  better  man,  and  sit  here  and  sound  the 
pump."  Well,  sir,  as  we  bore  down,  the  English  oc- 
casionally tried  our  distance  by  a  shot,  and  when  we 
was  within  about  a  mile  of  'em,  one  comes  ricochetting 
across  the  water,  bounds  over  the  bulwarks,  and  takes 
that  man's  head  as  clean  off  his  shoulders,  as  if  it  had 
been  done  with  his  own  broad-axe.  I  have  heam  say, 
that »  every  bullet  has  its  billet,'  and  that  is  sartin,  that 
it's  no  use  to  dodge  a  shot,  for  if  you  are  destined  to  fall 
by  a  shot,  you  will  sartin  fall  by  that  same  shot ;  and 
I  bears  in  mind,  that  an  English  sailor,  one  of  our  pri- 
soners, told  me  that  in  a  ship  of  their'n  a  feller,  as 
skulked  in  the  cable-tier,  during  an  action  with  the 
French,  was  found  dead  with  a  spent  forty-two  resting 
on  his  neck.  The  ball  had  come  in  at  the  stamport— 
struck  one  of  the  beams  for'ard,  and  tumbled  right  in 
upon  him,  breaking  his  neck,  as  he  lay  snugly  coiled 
away  in  the  cable-tier.  No,  no — misfortins  and  can- 
non shot  is  very  much  alike — there's  no  dodging— 
every  man  must  stand  up  to  his  work,  and  take  his 
chance — if  they  miss,  he  is  ready  when  they  pipes  to 
grog — if  they  hit,  the  puroer's  book  is  squared,  and  no 
more  charges  is  scored  agin  him. 

"  But  as  I  was  saying,  it  was'nt  long  before  we  begun 
to  make  our  carronades  tell,  and  then  at  it  we  went,  hot 
and  heavy,  the  Lawrence  taking  the  lead,  engaging  the 
Detroit,  and  every  vessel  as  she  came  up,  obeying  or- 
ders and  laying  her  enemy  alongside,  in  right  good 


THE    QUARTER-MASTER. 


Gft 


amest,  except  the  Niagara.  She  hung  back — damn  her 
— with  her  jib  brailed  up,  and  her  main-topsail  to  the 
mast — consequence  was,  the  Charlotte,  as  was  her  op- 
ponent, avails  herself  of  her  distance — runs  up  close 
under  the  stam  of  the  Detroit,  and  both  ships  pours 
in  their  combined  fire  into  our  ship  the  Lawrence. 
I  beam  the  master  myself,  and  afterwards  two  or 
three  of  the  other  officers,  go  up  to  the  Commodore  du- 
ring the  action,  and  call  his  attention  to  the  Niagara, 
and  complain  of  her  treacherous  or  cowardly  conduct. 
Well,  them  two  ships  gin  it  to  us  hot'  and  heavy,  and 
in  three  minutes  we  was  so  enveloped  in  smoke,  that 
we  O'^Uy  aimed  at  the  flashes  of  their  guns,  for  we 
might  as  well  have  tried  to  trace  a  flock  of  ducks  in 
the  thickest  fog  on  the  coast  of  Labrador,  as  their  spars 
or  hulls.  I  was  working  at  one  of  the  for'ard  guns,  and 
as  after  she  was  loaded,  the  captain  of  the  piece  stood 
waiting  with  the  trigger  lanyard  in  his  finger,  ready  to 
pull,  one  of  the  officers  calls  out,  **  I  say,  sir,  why  don't 
you  fire.'  *I  want  to  make  her  tell,  sir,'  says  the 
gunner, — I  am  waiting  for  their  flash, — ^there  it  is' — 
and  as  he  pulled  trigger,  a  cannon  shot  came  through 
the  port,  and  dashed  him  to  pieces  between  us,  covering 
me  and  the  officer  all  over  with  his  brains.  Their  fire 
was  awful ;  the  whole  of  the  shot  of  the  two  heaviest 
ships  in  the  squadron  pouring  into  us  nigh  on  two 
hours  without  stopping.  Our  brig  became  a  com- 
plete slaughter-house — the  guns  dismounted — carriages 


>  V 


64 


OLD     KENNEDY, 


knocked  to  pieces — some  of  our  ports  knocked  into 
one — hammock- netting  shot  clean  away — iron  stan- 
cheons  twisted  like  wire — and  a  devilish  deal  more 
daylisfht  than  canvass  in  our  bolt  ropes — ^the  wounded 
pouring  down  so  fast  into  the  cockpit,  that  the  surgeons 
didn^t  p  etend  to  do  more  than  apply  tourniquets  to 
stop  the  bleeding ;  and  many  of  the  men  came  back 
to  the  guns  in  that  condition ;  while  others  was  killer*, 
in  the  hands  of  the  surgeons.  One  shot  came  through 
the  cockpit,  jist  over  the  surgeon's  head,  and  killed 
midshipman  Laub,  who  was  coming  up  on  deck,  with 
a  tourniquet  at  his  shoulder,  and  another  killed  a  sea- 
man who  had  already  lost  both  arms.  Our  guns  was 
nearly  all  dismounted  ;  and  finally,  there  was  but  one 
that  could  be  brought  to  bear ;  and  so  completely  was 
the  crew  disabled,  that  the  commodore  had  to  work  at 
it  with  his  own  hands.  The  men  became  almost  furi- 
ous with  despair,  as  they  found  themselves  made  the 
target  for  the  whole  squadron  ;  and  the  wounded  com- 
pla(ined  bitterly  of  the  conduct  of  the  Niagara,  as  they 
lay  dying  on  the  decks,  and  in  the  cockpit.  Two  shots 
passed  through  the  magazine— one  knocked  the 
lantern  to  pieces,  and  sent  the  lighted  wick  upon  the 
floor;  and  if  the  gunnerhadn't  have  jumped  on  it  with 
his  feet,  before  it  caught  the  loose  powder — my  eyes  ! 
but  that  ere  ship  and  every  thing  on  board  would  have 
gone  into  the  air  like  a  sheaf  of  sky-rockets,  and  them 
as  was  on  board,  never  would  have  know'd  which  ^ide 


•i^'ij*'^ 


THE     QUARTER- MASTER. 


m 


shipped.  Out  of  one  hundred  men  that  went  into 
action,  eighty-three  were  either  killed  or  wounded,  and 
every  officer  was  killed  or  hurt  except  the  Commodore. 
Our  Lieutenant  of  marines,  lieutenant  Brooks — ^him  as 
was  called  the  Boston  Apollo — the  handsomest  man  in 
the  sarvice,  was  cut  nearly  in  two  by  a  cannon  shot} 
and  died  before  the  close  of  the  action. 

"It  was  nigh  on  all  up  with  us.     The  men  was  real 
grit  though,  and  even  the  wounded,  cried,  *  Blow  her 
up,'  rather  than  strike.     Well,  as  things  stood,  there 
was  an  end  of  the  Lawrence,  so  far  as  fighting  went, — ^ 
and    our   Commodore    says,    says    he, — <  Lieutenant 
Yarnall,  the  American  flag  must  not  be  pulled  down 
over  my  head  this  day,  while  life  remains  in  my  body .: 
I  will  go  on  board  that  ship  and  bring  her  myself  into 
action — and  I  will  leave  it  to  you  to  pull  C/wn  the  Law- 
rence's flag,  if  there  is  no  help  for  it.*     So  we  got  our 
barge  alongside,  by  the  blessing  of  Heaven,  not  so 
much  injured  but  what  she'd  float,  and  oflf  we  push- 
ed for  the  Niagara — ^the  Commodore  standing  with  his 
motto  flag  under  his  arm  ;  but  as  soon  as  the  enemy 
caught  sight  of  us,  they  delivered  a  whole  broadside 
directly  at  the  boat — and  then  peppered  away  so  brisk- 
ly, that  the  water  all  around  us  bubbled  like  a  duck- 
pond  in  a  thunder  shower.    There  Perry  stood,  erect 
and  proud,  in  the  stam  sheets — his  pistols  strapped  in 
his  belt,  and  his  sword  in  his  hand — ^his  eyes  bent  upon 
the  Niagara, — as  if  he*d  jump  the  distance, — ^never 
6 


\\ 


66 


OLD     KBNNEDTy 


heeding  the  shot  flying  around  him  like  hail.  The  men 
begged  him  to  sit  doMm — they  entreated  him  with  tears 
in  their  eyes — ^but  it  was  not  until  I  dragged  him  down 
by  main  force, — ^the  men  deciaring  that  they  would 
lay  upon  their  oars  and  be  taken  —that  he  conwo\  i^d. 
**  There's  them  as  says  the  Kiagara  wouldn't  come 
down,  and  there's  them  as  says  she  couldn't — all  / 
knows  is,  thiit  when  our  gallant  young  Commo'^ore 
took  the  quarter-deck,  she  walked  down  into  the  thick- 
est of  it  quick  enough — ^my  eyos !  how  ^.  did  give  it 
to  *em,  blazing  away  from  both  sides  at  once.  We 
ran  in  between  the  Detroit  and  Charlotte,  our  guns 
cr  immed  to  the  muzzle,  and  delivered  both  of  our  broad- 
sides into  them  at  the  same  time — grape,  cannister  and 
all, — raking  the  others  as  we  parsed ;  and  the  Niagara 
lads  showed  it  wasn't  no  fault  of  their'n,  that  they 
hadn't  come  earlier  to  their  work.  I  never  know'd 
guns  sarved  smarter,  than  they  sarved  their'n,  till  the 
end  of  the  action — nor  with  better  effect.  We  soon  si- 
lenced the  enemy,  and  run  up  the  stars  again  on  the 
Lawrence  as  she  lay  a  complete  wrack,  shattered  and 
cut  up  among  thciu,  for  all  the  world  like  a  dead  whale 
surrounded  by  shirks.  They  struck  one  after  another, 
much  like  you  may  have  seen  the  flags  of  a  fleet  run 
down  after  the  evening  gun  ;  and  as  the  firing  ceased, 
and  the  heavy  smoke  bank  rolled  oflf  to  leeward,  shiver 
my  timbers !  but  it  was  a  sight  for  a  Yankee  tar  to  see 
the  striped  bunting  slapping  triumphantly  in  the  breeze 
over  the  British  jacks  at  their  gafls. 


THE     Q'JARTBR-XASTER. 


67 


'*If   there's    any  man,   tho',   as   says  that   their 
Commodore  wasn't  a  man  every  inch  of  him,  aye ! 
and  as  good  a  seaman,  too,  as  ever  walked  a  caulked 
plank,  there's  one  here,  and  his  name's  Bill  Kennedy, 
as  will  tell  him,  that  he's  a  know.nothing,  and  talks 
of  a  better  man  nor  himself.     Aye — aye — scrape  the 
crown  off  his  buttons,  and  he  might  mess  with  De- 
catur anJ  Lawrence,  and  splice  the  main-brace  with 
Stewart  and  Hull,  and  they  be  proud  of  his  company. 
He  was  badly  cut  up,  cho',  and  I  have  hear'n  tell, 
that  when  he  get  home  to  England,  he  would* nt  go  for 
to  see  the  lady  what  he'd  engaged  to  marry,  but  sent 
her  word  by  a  friend — I  don't  know  who  that  friend 
was — ^but  suppose  it  was  his  first  lieutenant,  in  course, 
—he  sends  her  word  that  he  would'nt  hold  her  to  her 
engagement — cause   why,   says  he,  *  I'm  all  cut  to 
pieces,  and  an't  the  man  I  was,  when  she  engaged 
for  to  be  my  wife.'    Well,  what  d'ye  think  the  noble 
girl   says,  when  she  heam  this; — 'Tell  him,'  says 
she,  '  as  long  as  there's  enough  of  him  left  to  hold 
his  soul,  I  will  be  his,'— I   say,  Master  Tom,  that's 
most  up  to  the    Virginny  gals.    Well — well — there 
never  was  but  one,  as  would  have  said  as  much  for 
Bill  Kennedy,  and  she,  poor  Sue — she  married  curly- 
headed  Bob,  captain  of  the  main-top  in  the  Hornet,— 
in  a  pet,  and  was  sorry  when  it  was  too  late.     She 
was  a  good  girl,  though — and  I've  lent  her  and  her 
young  ones  a  hand  once't  or  twice  since  in  the  breakers. 


u 


OLD  KENNEDY, 
THE   QUARTER-MASTER. 

(Chesapeake  and  Shannon— Boat  Fight  on  Lake  Ontario.) 

No.  IV. 


**  Well,  Mr.  Kennedy,"  says  Lee,  *  you  have  told 
us  of  your  victories, — ^have  you  always  been  victori- 
ous— have  you  always  had  the  luck  on  your  side, — 
where  did  you  lose  your  arm  1"    The  old  man  took 
a  long  and  deliberate  survey  of  the  horizon  ahead  of 
lis,  apparently  not  well  pleased  with  a  dark  cloud  just 
beginning  to  lift  itself  above  its  edge  ;  but  whatever 
inferences  he  drew  from  it  he  kept  to  himself,  and 
having  relieved  his  mouth  from  the  quid,  and  replenish- 
ed the  vacuum  by  a  fresh  bite  of  the  pig-tail,  he  leisurely 
turned  to  us  again,  and  replied  with  some  emphasis—- 
*  Them  as  fights  the  English,  fights  men — and  though 
it's  been  my  luck  to  be  taken  twice  by  them,  once't  in 
the  unlucky  Chesapeake,  and  once't  on  the  lakes,  and 
though  I  owes  th^.  loss  of  my  flipper  to  a  musket  marked 
G.R.,  I  hopes  I  bears  them  no  more  grudge  than  be- 
comes a  true  yankee  sailor.  Now,  speaking  of  that,  I've 
'  always  obsarved,  since  the  war,  when  our  ships  is  in 


OLD    KENNEDY,   THE    QUARTER-MASTER.     6& 


the  same  port,  that  however  much  we  always  fights, 
when  we  falls  in  with  each  other,  that  the  moment 
the  English  or  Americans  gets  into  a  muss  with  the 
French,   or  the  Dutch,   or   the  Spaniards,   that  we 
makes  common  cause,  and  tumbles  in  and  helps  one 
another — but  Vm  blest !  but  that  Chesapeake  business 
was  a  bad  affair.     They  took  the  ship  ; — let  them  have 
the  credit  of  it,  say  I ; — but  no  great  credit  neither ;  for 
half  the  men  was  foreigners  in  a  state  of  mutiny,  and 
none  of  the  men  know'd  their  officers.     I  hearn  Cap- 
tain Lawrence  say  himself,  after  he  was  carried  below, 
that  when  he  ordered  the  bugle-man  to  sound,  to  repel 
boarders,  the  cursed  Portuguese  was  so  frightened,  or 
treacherous,  that  no  sound  came  from  the  bugle,  though 
his  cheeks  swelled  as  if  in  the  act ;  and  I  hearn  a 
British  officer  say  to  one  of  our'n,  that  Captain  Law-i 
rence  owed  his  death  to  his  wearing  a  white  cravat 
into  action,  and  that  a  sharp-shooter  in  their  tops  pick- 
ed him  off,  knowing  as  how,  that  no  common  man  would 
be  so  dressed.     I  don't  complain  of  their  getting  the 
best  of  it,  for  that's  the  fortune  of  war  ;  but  they  be- 
haved badly  after  the  colours  was  hauled  down.    They 
fired  down  the  hatches,  and  " — ^lifting  his  hat,  and  ex- 
hibiting a  seam  that  measured  his  head  from  the  crown 
to  the  ear — "  I  received  this  here  slash  from  the  cutlash 
of  a  drunken  sailor,  for  my  share,  as  I  came  up  the 
main-hatch,  after  she  surrendered — My  eyes !  all  the 
stars  in  heaven  was  dancing  before  me  as  I  tumbled 


\^ 


70 


OLD   KENNEDY} 


back  senseless  on  the  gun-deck  below ;  and  when 
they  brought  the  ship  into  Halifax,  she  smelt  more  like 
a  slaughter-house  nor  a  Christian  man-of-war.  How* ' 
somever,  they  whipt  us,  and  there's  an  end  of  the  mat- 
ter— only  I  wish't  our  gallant  Lawrence  might  have 
died  before  the  colours  came  down,  and  been  spared 
the  pain  of  seeing  his  ship  in  the  hands  of  the  enemy.  ' 
It  was  what  we  old  sailors  expected,  though.  She 
was  an  unlucky  ship,  and  that  disgraceful  affair  be- 
tween her  and  the  Leopard,  was  enough  to  take  the 
luck  out  of  any  ship.  Now  if  it  had  be^ a  "  Old  Iron- 
sides," *  or  the  *'  Old  Wagon,"  f  I'™  blessed !  but 
the  guns  would  have  gone  off  themselves,  had  the 
whole  crew  mutinied  and  refused  to  come  to  quarters, 
when  they^heard  the  roar  of  the  British  cannon — aye, 
aye,  Old  Ironsides'  bull-dogs  have  barked  at  John  Bull 
often  enough,  aye,  and  always  held  him  by  the  nose, 
too,  when  they  growled — but  the  Chesapeake's  colours 
was  hauled  down,  while  the  Shannon's  was  flying.-— 
That's  enough — we  had  to  knock  under — let  them 
have  the  credit  of  it,  say  I. — They'd  little  cause,  ex- 
cept in  that  ere  fight,  to  crow  over  the  Yankee  blue 
jackets.  They  whipt  us,  and  there's  an  end  of  the 
matter,  and  be  damned  to  'em. — But  that  ain't  answer- 
ing your  question,  as  how  I  lost  my  larboard  flipper. 
It  wasn't  in  that  ere  unfortunate  ship,  altho'  if  it  would 


Frigate  Conititution. 


t  Frigate  United  States. 


THE 


(7ARTSR-M  ASTIR. 


have  saved  the  honour  of  the  flag,  Bill  Kennedy  would 
willingly  have  given  his  head  and  his  arms  too— but  it 
*was  under  Old  Chauncey  on  Lake  Ontario.  It  was  in 
a  boat  expedition  on  that  'ere  lakei  that  I  first  got  a 
loose  sleeve  to  my  jacket,  besides  being  made  a  pris'- 
ner  into  the  bargain.  You  see,  Sir  James  was  shut  up 
in  Kingston,  and  beyond  the  harbour  there  was  a  long 
bay  or  inlet  setting  up  some  three  or  four  miles.  Now, 
the  Commodore  thought  it  mought  be,  there  was  more 
of  his  ships  in  that  same  bay ;  so  he  orders  Lieutenant 
,  him  as  the  English  called  the  <Dare*devil  Yan- 
kee,*— the  same  as  went  in  with  a  barge  i\e  year  be- 
fore and  burned  a  heavy  armed  schooner  on  the  stocks, 
with  all  their  stores^  and  came  away  by  the  light  of  it 
—at — at — ^I  misremember  the  place-— he  orders  him 
to  proceed  up  the  bay  to  reconniter — to  see  whether 
there  was  any  of  the  enemy's  ships  at  anchor  there — 
to  get  all  the  information  he  could  of  his  movements, 
and  to  bring  off  a  prisoner  if  he  could  catch  one — that 
the  Commodore  mought  overhaul  him  at  his  leisure. 
So  the  lieutenant  takes  a  yawl  as  we  had  captured 
some  days  before,  having  Sir  James's  own  flag  painted 
upon  her  bows,  with  midshipman  Bait,  :;nd  eight  of  us 
men;  and  pulh  leisurely  along  shore,  nil  we  made  the 
entrance  of  the  bay.  It  was  a  bright  summer  afler- 
noon,  and  the  water  was  as  calm  as  the  Captain's  hand- 
basin — not  a  ripple  to  be  seen.  Well,  the  entrance 
was  narrow,  and  somewhat  obstructed  by  small  islands  ; 


78 


OLD     KENNEDY, 


but  we  soon  got  through  them,  never  seeing  two  heavy 
English  men-of-war  barges,  as  was  snugly  stowed  in 
the  bushes  ;  but  about  three  miles  up,  we  spies  a  raft* 
of  timber,  with  two  men  on  it.  We  gave  way,  and  be- 
fore long  got  up  abreast  of  it.  When  we  got  close 
aboard  the  raft,  the  lieutenant  hailing  one  of  the  menf 
calls  him  to  the  side  nearest  the  boat,  and  says — *  My 
man,  what  are  you  lying  here  for,  doing  nothing — the 
wind  and  tide  are  both  in  your  favour — don't  you  know 
We  are  waiting  down  at  Kingston  for  this  here  timber 
for  his  Majesty's  sarvice — what  are  you  idling  away- 
your  time  for  here?'  The  feller  first  looks  at  Sir 
James's  flag  painted  upon  the  bows  of  the  yawl ;  and 
then  at  the  lieutenant,  and  then  again  at  the  flag — and 
then  at  the  (ieutenant — and  then  opens  his  eyes,  and 
looks  mighty  scarey,  without  saying  anything,  with  his 
mouth  wide  open, — '  I  say,'  says  the  Lieutenant  '*ginf 
*  I  say,  you  feller  with  the  ragged  breeches,  do  you 
mean  to  swallow  my  boat — why  don't  you  answer-r- 
what  the  devil  are  you  doing;  here?*  The  feller 
scratches  his  head,  and  then  stammers,  *  I— I — /  know 
you — you  are  him  as  burnt  Mr.  Peter's  schooner  last 
year.'  « Well,'  says  the  Lieutenant,  *what  are  you 
going  to  do  with  this  here  timber.'  *  I'm  carrying  it 
down  for  a  raising,'  says  he.  *  What !  *  says  the 
Lieutenant,  *  do  you  use  ship's  knees  and  transom 
beams  for  house  raising  in  this  part  of  the  country  ? 
It  won't  do,  my  man.     Bear  a  hand,  my  lads,  and  pilo 


THE    QUARTER-MASTER. 


7t 


all  the  boards  and  light  stuff  in  the  centre,  and  we'll 
make  a  bonfire  in  honour  of  his  most  sacred  Majesty.* 
So  we  set  fire  to  it,  and  took  the  spokesman  on  board 
the  yawl, — towing  the  other  man  in  their  skiff  astam, 
intending  to  release  them  both  when  we  had  got  all  the 
information  that  we  wanted  out  of  them.  We  returned 
slowly  down  the  bay  again,  the  blazing  raft  making  a 
great  smoke  ;  but  as  we  neared  the  outlet,  what  does 
we  see,  but  them  two  heavy  barges  pulling  down  to  cut 
us  off.  We  had  to  run  some  distance  nearly  parallel 
with  them,  an  island  intervening — so  we  every  moment 
came  nearer  to  them,  and  soon  within  speaking  dis* 
tance.  The  men  gave  way  hearty — in  fear  of  an  Eng- 
lish prison,  but  as  we  came  nearer  each  other,  some  of 
the  officers  in  the  English  boats  recognises  Lieutenant 
,  cause  why — they  had  been  prisoners  with  us 
— and  hails  him — "  G ,"  says  they,  *  you  must  sub- 
mit, it's  no  use  for  you  to  resist,  we  are  four  to  your 
one.  Gome,  old  feller,  don't  make  any  unnecessary 
trouble,  but  give  up — you've  got  to  knock  under.'  The 
Lieutenant  said  nothing,— but  he  was  a  particular  man, 
and  had  his  own  notions  upon  the  subject,  for,  bidding, 
the  men  give  way,  he  coolly  draws  sight  upon  the 
spokesman  with  his  rifle,  and  most  sartin,  as  he  was  a 
dead  shot,  there  would  have  been  a  vacant  commission 
in  His  Majesty's  Navy,  hadn't  the  raftsman,  who  was 
frightened  out  of  his  wits,  caught  hold  of  him  by  the 
t^ils  of  his  coat  and  dragged  him  down  into  the  bottom 


74 


OLD     KENNEDTi 


of  the  boat.  The  Lieutenant  drops  his  rifle,  and 
catches  the  feller  by  his  legs  and  shoulders  and  heaves 
him  clear  of  the  boat  towards  the  skiff — while  we  men, 
dropping  our  oars,  gave  them  a  volley  with  our  muskets, 
and  then  laid  down  to  it  again.  We  had  taken  them 
by  surprise,  but  as  we  dashed  along  ahead,  they  e- 
tumed  our  fire  with  interest,  peppering  some  of  our  lads 
and  killing  Midshipman  Hart  outright,  who  merely  ut- 
tered an  exclamation  as  his  oar  flew  up  above  his  heady 
and  he  fell  dead  in  the  bottom  of  the  boat.  Well,  we 
see'd  the  headmost  barge  all  ready,  lying  on  her  oars 
and  waiting  for  us,  and  as  there  was  no  funning  the 
gauntlet  past  her  fire,  we  made  for  another  opening 
from  the  bay  as  didn't  appear  to  be  obstructed,  but  as 
vre  nears  it,  and  just  begins  to  breathe  free,  three  boats 
full  of  lobsters,  of  red-coats,  shoots  right  across,  and 
closes  the  entrance  effectually  on  that  side.  We  was 
in  a  regular  rat-trap.  We  had  been  seen  and  watched 
from  the  moment  we  had  got  inside  of  the  bay,  burning 
the  raft  and  all.  *  Well,  my  lads,'  says  the  Lieute- 
nant, *  this  will  never  do — we  must  go  about — ^hug  the 
shore  close,  and  try  to  push  by  the  barges.'  So  about 
we  went,  but  as  we  neared  the  shore,  there  was  a  par- 
ty of  them  'ere  riflemen  in  their  leggins  and  hunting- 
shirts,  all  ready  for  us,  waiting  just  as  cool  and  uncon- 
samed  as  if  we  was  a  parcel  of  Christmas  turkies, 
put  up  for  them  to  shoot  at.  *  Umph,'  says  the  Liou- 
tenant  again,  *  'twon't  do  for  them  fellers  to  be  crack- 


THE    QTJARTER-MA8TIR. 


76 


ing  their  coach- whips  at  us  neither — ^weVe  nothing  to 
do  for  it,  my  boys,  but  to  try  our  luck*  such  as  it  is, 
with  the  barges.'  So  as  we  pulled  dead  for  the  en- 
trance of  the  bay,  they  lay  on  their  oars,  all  ready  for 
us,  and  as  we  came  up,  they  poured  such  a  deadly  fire 
into  that  ere  yawl  as  I  never  seed  before  or  since. 
There  was  nineteen  wounds  among  eight  of  us.  The 
Lieutenant  was  the  only  one  unhurt,  though  his  hat 
was  riddled  through  and  through,  and  his  clothes  hung 
about  him  in  tatters.  How  he  was  presarved,  is  a  mi- 
racle, for  he  was  standing  all  the  while  in  the  stam- 
sheets,  the  most  exposed  of  any  on  board.  They  kept 
firing  away,  as  if  they  intended  to  finish  the  business* 
and  gin  no  quarter,  the  men  doing  what  little  they 
could  to  pull  at  the  oars ;  but  a  boat  of  wounded  and 
dying  men  couldn't  make  much  headway.  Our  men 
was  true  Yankee  lads,  tho' — and  no  flinchir?g. 

**  There  was  one  man  named  Patterson,  as  pulled 
on  the  same  thwart  with  me,  and  of  all  the  men  IVe 
ever  sailed  with,  he  showed  most  of  what  I  calls  real 
grit.  At  their  first  volley,  he 'gets  a  shot  through  his 
thigh,  shattering  the  bone  so  that  it  hung  twisted  over 
on  one  side,  but  he  pulls  away  at  his  oar  as  if  nothing 
,  had  happened.  Presently  another  passes  through  his 
lungs,  and  comes  out  at  his  back — still  he  pulls  away* 
and  didn't  give  in ; — at  last,  a  third  takes  him  through 
the  throat,  and  passes  out  back  of  his  neck; — then* 
and  not  till  then,  did  he  call  out  to  the  lieutenant — 


76 


OLD     KENNEDY, 


<  Mr,  G — ,  I'm  killed,  sir ; — I'm  dead  ; — I  can*t  do  no 
more.'  So  the  lieutenant  says — •*  Throw  your  oar 
overbo;ird,  Patterson,  and  slide  down  into  the  bottom 
of  the  boat,  and  make  yourself  as  comfortable  as  you 
can.'  Well — what  does  Patterson  do,  as  he  lays  in 
the  bottom  of  the  boat  bleeding  to  death,  what  does  he 
do  but  lifts  his  arm  over  the  gunwale,  and  shaking  his 
fist,  cry,  *  Come  on,  damn  ye,  one  at  a  time,  and  I'm 
enough  for  ye  as  I  am.'  Aye,  aye,  Patterson  was  what 
I  calls  real  grit.  He  was  a  good,  quiet,  steady  man, 
too,  on  board  ship ;  always  clean  and  B.ctyvey  and  cheer- 
ful in  obeying  orders.  Howsomever,  his  time  had 
come,  and  in  course  there  was  an  end  of  his  boat  duty 
in  this  world. 

"Well — they  continued  to  fire  into  us  as  fast  as 
they  could  load,  cause  why,  they  was  aggravated 
that  so  small  a  force  should  have  fired  into  them ; 
but  the  lieutenant  takes  off  his  hat  :^nd  makes  a 
low  bow,  to  let  them  know  as  how  he  ha  J  surrendered, 
and  then  directs  me  to  hold  up  an  oar's  blade  ;  but  they 
takes  no  notice  of  neither,  and  still  "peppered  away ; 
but  just  as  we  concludes  that  they  didn't  intend  to  give 
no  quarter,  but  meant  to  extarminate  us  outright,  they 
slacks  firing,  and,  taking  a  long  circuit,  as  if  we'd  have 
been  a  torpedo,  or  some  other  dangerous  combustible, 
pulled  up  aboard.  There  wasn't  much  for  them  to  be 
afeard  on  though,  for  with  the  exception  of  the  lieute- 
nant, who  was  untouched,  there  was  nothing  in  the  boat 


THE     QU AR TER-M A 8TEB. 


77 


but  dead  and  wounded  men.  They  took  us  in  tow* 
and  carried  us  down  to  Kingston,  and  mighty  savage  was 
Sir  James ; — he  said  that  it  was  unpardonable  that  so 
small  a  force  should  nave  attempted  resistance,  and  he 
and  the  lieutenant  getting  high,  and  becoming  aggra- 
vated by  something  as  was  said  between  them.  Sir 
James  claps  him  in  a  state-room  under  arrest,  and 
keeps  him  there  under  a  sentry,  with  a  drawn  baggo- 
net,  for  nigh  on  two  months.  After  that  he  sends  the 
lieutenant  to  Quebec,  and  then  to  England,  where  he 
remained  till  the  close  of  the  war  ;  but  them  of  us  men 
as  didn't  die  of  our  wounds  was  kept  down  in  Montreal, 

until "     Here  the  old  man  broke  off  abruptly,  and 

taking  another  long  look  at  the  horizon,  said,  **  If  I  a'rit 
much  mistaken.  Master  Tom,  there's  something  a- 
brewing  ahead  there,  as  will  make  this  here  craft  wake 
•  up,  as  if  she  was  at  the  little  end  of  a  funnel,  with  a 
harricane  pouring  through  the  other — and  if  I  knows 
the  smell  of  a  Potomac  thund;. .  (|ust,  we'll  have  it  full 
blast  here  before  we're  many  minutes  older." 


II 


LEE'S  PARTISAN   LEGION. 


Old  Kennedy  quietly  proceeded  to  make  the  ne- 
cessary preparations  to  encounter  the  tempest.  His 
peacoat  was  got  out  of  the  locker,  and  tightly  buttoned 
about  him,  and  his  tarpaulin  well  secured  by  its  lan- 
yard to  his  button-hole.  The  mainsail  and  foresail 
were  stowed  and  secured,  and  nothing  but  the  jib,  the 
bonnet  of  which  was  reefed  down,  was  allowed  to 
remain  spread  upon  our  dark  and  graceful  schooner. 

The  cloud  in  the  horizon  began  to  extend  itself.^in- 
creasing  and  gradually  rising  and  covering  the  sky, 
and  the  old  man's  prediction  was  evidently  about  to 
be  fulfilled.  A  dead  calm,  lay  upon  the  river,  and  a 
preternatural  stillness  clothed  in  a  sort  of  stupor  the 
whole  face  of  nature  around  us ;  while  low  muttering 
rolls  of  thunder  from  the  dark  cloud,  and  the  frequent, 
sudden,  crinkling  lightning,  glittering  across  its  sur- 
face, warned  us  that  we  were  about  to  encounter  one 
of  those  violent  and  terrible  thunder-storms  which  not 
unfrequently  occur  in  this  part  of  the  country. 

The  distant  muttering  in  the  horizon  rapidly  became 
louder,  and  the  perfect  stillness  of  the  forest  was  bro- 
ken. The  melancholy  sighs  of  the  coming  blast  in- 
creased to  wails, — the  boughs  of  the  trees  rubbed 
against  each  other  with  a  slow,  see    aw  motion,  and» 


'] 


LEB    S   PARTISAN   LIOION. 


79 


as  the  storm  increased,  grated  with  a  harsh  and  con- 
tinued groaning.  The  lightning  became  quick  and 
incessant,  and  blindingly  vivid,  ai^d  the  dark  gloom  of 
the  forest  ivas  rendered  still  darker  by  its  rapid  glare. 
The  river  itself  soon  was  lashed  into  foam  behind  us, 
and  in  a  few  moments  more,  accompanied  by  huge 
clouds  of  dust,  the  tempest  came  roaring  upon  us 
The  cultivated  fields  and  cheerful  plantations  which 
were  but  now  smiling  in  quietness  and  repose,  on  the 
other  side  of  the  river,  were  now  instantly  shut  out  by 
the  deep  gloom.  As  the  gust  struck  the  schooner, 
she  checked  for  a  moment  as  if  in  surprise,  and  then 
shot  forward  with  the  speed  of  an  arrow  from  the  bow, 
swept  on  in  the  furious  tempest  as  if  she  had  been  a 
gossamer  or  feather,  enveloped  in  dust  and  darkness, 
the  rain  and  hail  hissing  as  it  drove  onwards,  and  the 
terrific  thunder,  now  like  whole  broadsides  of  artillery, 
now  quick  and  incessant  peals  of  musquetry,  roaring 
with  frightful  violence  around  her,  while  the  deep  black 
forest,  lit  up  by  the  blue  lightning,  bellowed  incessantly 
with  the  hollow  echoes.  As  we  swept  forward  with 
frantic  swiftness,  a  quivering  white  flash  struck  the 
top  of  an  immense  oak,  and  ere  the  crashing,  deafen- 
ing roar  of  the  thunder  followed,  it  was  torn  and  splin* 
tered,  shivered  and  burning,  hurled  on  by  the  blasts 
.  As  soon  as  the  squall  struck  us,  we  ensconced 
ourselves  below,  in  full  confidence  of  our  safety  with^ 
Old  Kennedy  at  the  helm  ;  and  a  fine  subjecV-^f^ScJImi  SCi^ 

BAIJW 


'1 


mo^ 


80 


x^e'i  partisan  legion* 


the  old  seaman  have  been  for  a  painter,  as  he  sat  amid 
the  fury  of  the  storm,  stem  and  erect,  the  tiller  under 
the  stump  of  his  left  armt  and  the  jib-sheets'j  with  one 
turn  around  the  cleet  in  his  right  hand — the  usual 
surly  expression  of  his  countenance  increased  into 
grim  defiance,  as  he  steadily  and  unmovingly  kept  his 
eyes  fixed  into  the  gloom  ahead.  At  one  time  we 
darted  by  a  sloop  at  anchor,  which  had  let  go  every 
thing  by  the  run,  her  sails  over  her  side  in  the  water, 
on  which,  if  the  yacht  had  struck,  she  would  have  been 
crumpled  up  like  a  broken  egg>shell ;  but  thanks  to  our 
old  Quartermaster's  care,  we  dashed  by  in  the  gloom, 
his  eyes  never  even  for  a  moment  turning  on  her  as  we 
passed. 

The  storm  swept  us  on  in  its  fury  for  some  time, 
when  it  gradually  abated  in  violence,  and  began  to 
snb.side.  The  heavy  clouds,  flying  higher  and  higher 
in  detached  masses  in  the  heavens,  by  and  bye  lifted 
themselves  in  the  western  sky,  and  through  the  ragged 
intervals  the  setting  sun  poured  his  last  rays  over  the 
dripping  forest^  bronzing  the  dark  sides  of  our  little 
schooner  as  he  sunk  and  disappeared  beneath  the 
horizon.  As  the  evening  wore  on,  a  star  here  and 
there  discovered  itself  struggling  amid  the  scud  flying 
over  it,  and  presen^^y  the  moon  shone  out  with  her 
broad  and  silver  light,  and  every  vestige  of  the  storm 
bad  disappeared. 


LEES   PARTISAN   LEGION. 


81 


.  As  we  glided  gaily  on,  with  a  fresh,  fine  hreeze,  to- 
wards our  cottage  home  past  the  deep  forest,  the 
silence  was  broken  by  a  long,  melancholy  howl,  which 
I  supposed  was  that  of  a  solitary  wolf,  but  Lee  said 
that  it  was  more  probably  from  some  one  of  the  large 
breed  of  dogs  which  are  found  on  most  of  the  planta- 
tions. Lee's  mind  was  of  a  sad  and  pensive,  although 
not  at  all  of  a  gloomy  cast ;  and  like  most  men  of  that 
character,  he  required  strong  excitement  to  arouse  him ; 
but  when  aroused,  of  all  delightful  companions  that  I 
have  ever  met,  he  was  the  man.  The  excitement  of 
the  storm  had  been  sufficient  stimulus,  and  giving  the 
reins  to  his  wild  spirits  and  excited  feelings,  he  enter- 
tained us  with  an  incessant  stream  of  anecdote  and 
adventure.  The  howl  of  the  wolf  had  recalled  to 
mind  an  incident  in  the  life  of  his  ancestor,  Lieute- 
nant-Colonel Lee,  and  in  connection,  he  related  it  with 
many  other  adventures  of  the  celebrated  Partisan  Le- 
gion. I  will  not  attempt  to  use  his  beautiful  and  spirit- 
stirring  language,  but  will  confine  myself  to  a  few  dis- 
jointed anecdotes,  of  the  many  which  he  related  of  the 
dashing  corps,  as  they  happen  to  recur  to  my  memory. 
The  Legion,  intended  to  act  independently  or  con- 
jointly with  the  main  army,  as  circumstances  might 
require,  was  composed  of  three  companies  of  infantry, 
and  three  troops  of  cavalry,  amounting  in  all  to  three 
hundred  and  fifty  men,  commanded  by  Lieutenant- 
Colonel  Henry  Lee,  who,  every  inch  a  soldier,  had 
6 


82 


LEE    S    PARTISAN    LEOIOIf. 


won  for  himself  in  the  Southern  campaigns,  and  par- 
ticularly in  the  masterly  retreat  of  Green,  before  Com- 
wallis,  the  honourable  distinction  of  being  called  **  the 
eye  of  the  Southern  army."  He  was  Green's  con- 
fidential adviser  and  constant  friend  : — a  stern  disci- 
plinarian, he  was  nevertheless  beloved  by  his  officers 
and  men,  and  so  careful  was  he  of  the  interests  of  the 
latter,  that  while  the  rest  of  the  army  were  suffering, 
the  Legion  by  his  exertions  was  always  retained  in  the 
highest  state  of  personal  appearance  and  discipline. 
The  horses  were  powerful  and  kept  in  high  condition ; 
—indeed  Lee  has  been  accused  of  being  more  careful 
for  their  safety,  than  for  that  of  his  men.  The  cavalry  in 
the  British  army  mounted  on  inferior  horses,  could  not 
stand  a  moment  before  them;  and  armed  with  their 
long  heavy  sabres,  Lee's  troopers  were  considered  full 
jnatch    for  double   the    force   of  the  enemy. 

"^'he  liCgion  infantry  were  well  equipped,  and  tho- 
^        '  disciplined  men,  and  acted  in  unison  with  the 
lougnl>         They  were  commanded  by  Captain  Michael 
cavalry.  ^^  ^^  small  stature,  but  of  the  most  de- 

Kudo  p  »        •-       ^- j^g   courage,  and  of  great  physical 
termined  and  da.       ^  ^^^  .^    ^^^^^  ^^^  ^^  ^^^^^^^         „ 

strength.     He  alwa>        .        '^  •    j  •    .i.      . 

Buoiig  ^  'ces  were  required  m  the  storm 

when  the  Legion  s  serv.      ^  ^^^      ^^^  .^^j  ^^^.^  ^^^^ 
of  posts,  and  he  was  so  cou  ^^  ^^^^^^  ^^  ^^^^^ 

.hat  it  was  ..ly  "«';-;"y '^      character,  that  the  in- 
on  duty  of  the  most  despmW  .^  .^ 

fantry,  to  a  roan,  were  anxious  .'  s  s 


LBES       PARTISAN    LEGION. 


88 


The  leading  captain  of  the  cavalry,  James  Armstrong, 
was  almost  precisely  his  counterpart  in  person,  in 
strength,  in  undaunted  courage  and  heroic  daring,  be- 
loved by  his  men,  ahead  of  whom  he  was  always 
found  in  the  charge.  O'Neal,  also  of  the  cavalry,  was 
a  bold  and  gallant  man,  who  fought  his  way  up  from 
the  ranks ;  for  no  carpet  knight  had  consideration  in 
the  corps.  In  an  early  part  of  his  career,  he  came 
near  cutting  off  in  the  bud,  Cornwallis'  favourite  caval- 
ry officer,  Lieutenant-Colonel  Tarleton  ;  for  this  offi- 
cer, whatever  his  merits  or  demerits,  endeavoured  to 
enter  a  window  at  which  O'Neal  was  posted,  when  the 
latter,  dropping  his  carabine,  snapped  it  within  an  inch 
of  his  head,  but  the  piece  missing  fire,  Tarleton  very 
coolly  looked  jp  at  him  with  a  smile,  and  said,  "  You 
have  missed  it  for  this  time,  my  lad,"  and  wheeling  his 
horse,  joined  the  rest  of  his  troop,  who  were  on  the 
retreat. 

It  were  perhaps  difficult  to  select  the  brave  from  a 
body  of  men  who  were  all  brave,  but  it  is  Uv^t  invidious 
to  say,  that  there  was  not  a  man  of  more  fearless  cour- 
age in  the  corps  than  Lieutenant  Manning  of  the  Le- 
gion infantry.  At  the  battle  of  Eutaw,  commanding  his 
platoon  to  charge,  he  rushed  on  in  his  usual  reckless 
manner,  without  stopping  or  looking  behind  him,  until 
he  was  brought  up  by  a  large  stone  house,  into  which 
the  Royal  York  Volunteers  under  Lieutenant-Colunel 
Cruger,  were  retiring.    The  British  were  on  all  sides. 


84 


lee's    partisan    legion. 


and  0  American  soldier  within  two  hundred  yards  of 
him.  Without  a  moment's  hesitpiicn*  he  threw  him- 
self upon  a  British  officer,  and  seizing  him  by  the  col- 
lar, wrested  his  sword  from  his  grasp,  exclaiming,  in 
a  harsh  voice,  "  You  are  my  prisoner,  sir."  Interpos- 
ing him  between  the  enemy  and  himself,  as  a  shield 
from  the  heavy  fire  pouring  from  the  windows,  he 
then  very  coolly  and  deliberately  backed  out  of  dan- 
ger :  the  prisoner,  who  was  not  deemed  by  his  brother 
ofiicers  a  prodigy  of  valour,  pompously  enumerating  his 
rank  and  titles,  which  Manning  occasionally  interrupt- 
ed with,  "  You  are  right — you  are  right — you're  just 
the  man,  sir, — ^you  shall  preserve  me  from  danger,  and 
rest  assured  I'll  take  good  care  of  j/au." 

Manning  hau  retreated  some  distance  from  the  house, 
wb  3n  he  saw  his  friend  Captain  Joyett,  of  the  Virginia 
liiAd,  engaged  in  single  combat  with  a  British  ofiicer. 
The  American  was  armed  with  his  sword,  while  the 
Briton  was  defending  himself  with  a  bayonet.  As  the 
American  approached,  the  Englishman  made  a  thrust 
with  the  bayonet,  which  Joyett  successfully  parried  with 
his  sword,  when  boih  of  them  dropping  the  arms  which 
they  could  not  vield  in  so  close  an  encounter,  simultane- 
ously clinched,  and  being  men  of  great  and  nearly 
equal  bodily  strength,  they  were  soon  engaged  in  a  des- 
perate and  deadly  strugg'  3.  While  thus  engaged,  an 
English  grenadier  seeing  the  danger  of  his  officer, 
ran  up  and  with  his  bayonet  made  a  lounge,  which 


LBE    S    PARTISAN    LEGION. 


luckily  missing  Joyett's  body,  passed  only  through 
the  skirts  of  his  coat,  but  the  bayonet  becoming 
entangled  in  the  folds,  upon  its  withdrawal  dragged 
both  of  the  combatants  together  to  the  ground.  The 
soldier  having  disengaged  it,  was  about  deliberately  to 
transfix  Joyett  by  a  second  thrust,  when  Manning, 
seeing  the  danger  of  ^  nd,  without  being  suffi- 

ciently near  in  the  cris  him,  called  out  as  he 

hurried  up  in  an  authoi  »ne,  '*  You  would  not 

murder  the  gentleman,  you  brute  !** — The  grenadier 
supposing  himself  addressed  by  one  of  his  own  officerst 
suspended  the.  contemplated  blow  and  turned  towards 
the  speaker,  but  before  he  could  recover  from  his  sur- 
prise, Manning  cut  him  across  the  eyes  with  his 
sword,  while  Joyett  disengaging  himself  from  his  op- 
ponent, snatched  up  the  musket,  and  with  one  blow  laid 
him  dead  with  the  butt ; — the  valiant  prisoner  whom 
Manning  had  dragged  along,  and  who  invariably  assert- 
ed that  he  had  been  captured  by  **  Joyett,  a  huge  Vir- 
ginian,"— instead  of  Manning,  who  was  a  small  man — 
standing  a  horror-struck  spectator  of  the  tragedy. 
An  equally  brave  man  was  Sergeant  Ord,  of  Manning's 
company  ; — in  the  surprise  of  the  British  at  George- 
town, when  a  company  of  the  Legion  infantry  had 
captured  a  house  with  its  enclosures,  the  enemy  made 
an  attempt  to  regain  it ;  the  commanding  officer  calling 
out  to  his  men,  "  Rush  on,  my  brave  fellows — they  are 
only  militia,  and  have  no  bayonets;" — Ord  placing 


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66 


LEE    S    PARTISAN     LEGION. 


himself  in  front  of  the  gate  as  they  attempted  to  enter, 
laid  six  of  them  in  succession,  dead  at  his  feet,  ac- 
companying each  thrust  with — "Oh!  no  bayoneta 
here — none  to  be  sure  !" — following  up  his  strokes 
with  such  rapidity  that  the  party  were  obliged  to  givo 
up  the  attempt  and  retire. 

But  perhaps  there  could  have  been  no  two  charac- 
ters in  the  corps  more  the  perfect  antipodes  of  each 
other,  than  the  two  surgeons  of  the  cavalry,  Irvine 
and  Skinner,  for  while  Irvine  was  entirely  regardless 
of  his  person,  and  frequently  found  engaged  sword  in 
hand,  in  the  thickest  of  the  fight,  whepe  his  duty  by 
no  means  called  him,  Skinner  was  as  invariably 
found  in  the  rear,  cherishing  his  loved  person  from  the 
threatened  danger.  Indeed  he  was  a  complete  coun- 
terpart of  old  FalstafT ; — the  same  fat  and  rotund  per- 
son— the  same  lover  of  good  cheer  and  good  wine — 
and  entertaining  the  same  aversion  to  exposing  his  dear 
body  to  the  danger  of  missiles  or  cuts ; — not  only 
was  he  a  source  of  fun  in  himself,  **  but  he  was  the 
cause  of  it  in  others."  He  asserted  that  his  business 
was  in  the  rear — to  cure  men,  not  to  kill  them ;  and 
when  Irvine  was  wounded  at  the  charge  of  Quinby^s 
bridge,  he  refused  to  touch  him,  until  he  had  dressed 
the  hurts  of  the  meanest  of  the  soldiers,  saying  that 
Matthew  Irvine  was  served  perfectly  right,  and  had  no 
business  to  be  engaged  out  of  his  vocation.  At  the 
night  alarm  at  Ninety-six,  Colonel  Lee,  hastening  for* 


LEE   S    PARTISAN    LEGION. 


87 


ward  to  ascertain  the  cause,  met  the  Doctor  in  full  re- 
treat, and  stopping  him,  addressed  him,  with — "  Where 
so  fast,  Doctor — not  frightened  I  hope," — «  No,  Colo- 
nel," replied  Skinner — **  not  frightened — but  I  confess, 
most  infernally  alarmed."  His  eccentricities  extend- 
ed  not  alone  to  his  acts,  but  to  every  thing  about  him. 
Among  other  peculiarities,  he  wore  his  beard  long,  and 
unshorn,  and  upon  being  asked*  by  a  brother  officer 
why  he  did  so,  he  replied,  that  "that  was  a  secret  be- 
tween Heaven  and  himself,  which  no  human  imperti- 
nence should  ever  penetrate."  Like  FalstafT,  and  with 
similar  success,  he  considered  himself  the  admired 
of  the  fair  sex, — *'  Ay  !"  said  he,  to  Captain  Cams,  of 
the  infantry,  **  Ay,  Cams,  I  have  an  eye .'"  Yet  Skinner 
was  by  no  means  a  man  to  be  trifled  with,  for  he  was 
not  devoid  of  a  certain  sort  of  courage,  as  he  had 
proved  in  half  a  dozen  duels,  in  one  of  which  he  had 
killed  his  man.  When  asked  how  it  was,  that  he  was 
so  careful  of  his  person  in  action,  when  he  had  shown 
so  plainly  that  he  was  not  deficient  in  courage, — ^he 
replied,  **That  he  considered  it  very  arrogant  in  a 
surgeon,  whose  business  it  was  to  cure,  to  be  aping 
the  demeanour  and  duty  of  a  commissioned  offit 
cer,  and  that  he  was  no  more  indisposed  to  die  than 
other  gentlemen,  but  that  he  had  an  utter  aversion  to  the 
noise  and  tumult  of  battle, — that  it  stunned  and  stupi- 
fied  him."  On  one  occasion,  when  the  Legion  was 
passing  through  a  narrow  defile,  the  centre  was  alarmed 


68 


LEE8    PARTISAN    LEGION. 


by  the  drums  of  the  infantry  beating  to  arms  in  front,—-' 
Skinner,  with  the  full  sense  of  what  was  due  to  him* 
self,  whirled  about,  and  giving  his  horse  a  short  turn  by 
the  bridle,  brought  him  down  on  his  back  in  the  mid- 
dle of  the  defile,  completely  blocking  it  up,  and  pre- 
venting either  egress  or  ingress — relief  or  retreat.  The 
infantry  and  cavalry  which  had  passed  the  gorge,  imme- 
diately deployed  on  the  hill  in  front,  while  the  remainder 
of  the  Legion,  gallopingup,  were  completely  severed  by 
this  singular  and  unexpected  obstruction,  until  Captain 
Egglestone  dismounting  some  of  his  strongest  troopers, 
succeeded  in  dragging  the  horse  out  of  the  defile  by 
main  force.  It  turned  out  that  the  alarm  was  false, 
otherwise  the  doctor's  terror  might  have  caused  the 
destruction  of  one-half  of  the  corps. 

But  to  recur  to  the  incident  brought  to  mind  by  the 
howling  of  the  wolf.  When  the  Legion  was  on  its 
march  to  form  a  junction  with  Marion,  on  the  little  Pe- 
dee,  it  one  night  encamped  in  a  large  field  on  tho 
southern  side  of  a  stream,  with  the  main  road  in  front. 
The  night  passed  on  very  quietly,  until  about  two 
or  three  in  the  morning,  when  the  officer  of  the  day 
reported  that  a  strange  noise  had  been  heard  by  th^ 
picquet  in  front,  on  the  great  road,  resembling  the  noise 
of  men  moving  through  the  adjoining  swamp.  While 
he  was  yet  speaking,  the  sentinel  in  that  quarter  fired 
his  piece,  which  was  immediately  followed  by  the  bu- 
gle calling  in  the  horse  patroles,  the  invariable  custom 


lee's  partisan  legion. 


89 


Upon  the  approach  of  an  enemy.     The  drums  instantly 
beat  to  arms,   and  the  troops  arranged  for  defence. 
The  sentries  on  being  questioned,  all  concurred  in  the 
same  account,  "  and  one  patrol  of  horse  asserted  that 
they  had  heard  horsemen  concealing  with  the  greatest 
care  their  advance."     Lee  was  in  great  perplexity,  for 
he  knew  that  he  was  not  within  striking  distance  of 
any  large  Jbody  of  the  enemy,  and  that  Marion  was  at 
least  two  days  distance  in  advance  ;  but  soon  a  sentinel 
in  another  direction  fired,   and  the  same  report  was 
brought  in  from  him ;  and  it  was  apparent,  however 
unaccountable,  that  the  enemy  were  present.     A  rapid 
change  in  the  formation  of  the  troops  was  made  to 
meet  the  attack  in  this  quarter,  but  it  was  hardly  ac- 
complished  before  the  fire  of  a  third  sentinel   in  a 
different  direction,  communicated  the  intelligence  of 
danger  from   another  quarter.      Feelings  of  intense 
anxiety  were  now  aroused,  and    preparations   were 
made  for  a  general   assault,  as  soon  as  light  should 
allow  it  to  be  made.      The   picquets  and  sentinels 
held   their  stations,  the  horse  patrols    were   called 
in,  and  the  corps  changed  its  position  in  silence,  and 
with  pre-jision  upon  every  new  communication,  with  the 
combined  object  of  keeping  the  fires  between  them  and 
the  enemy,  and  the  horse  in  the  rear  of  the  infantry. 
While  thus  engaged,  another  and  rapid  discharge 
by^  the  sentinels,  on  the  line  of  the  great  road,  plainly 
indicated  that  the  enemy  were  in  force,  and  that  with 
full  understanding  of  their  object,  they  had  surrounded 


90 


lee's  partisan  lsoion. 


them.  It  was  also  evident  that  there  must  be  a  large 
body  of  the  enemy,  from  their  covering  so  large  a  seg- 
ment of  the  circle  around  them.  It  was  equally  appa- 
rent that  they  could  expect  no  aid  from  any  quarter, 
and  relying  upon  themselves,  the  corps  awaited  in  ex- 
treme anxiety,  the  scene  which  the  day  was  to  usher 
upon  them. 

Lee  passed  along  the  line  of  infantry  and  cavalry, 
in  a  low  tone  urging  upon  them  the  necessity  of  pro- 
found silence,  reminding  them  that  in  the  approaching 
contest  they  must  sustain  their  high  reputation,  and 
expressing  his  confidence,  that  with  their  accustomed 
bravery,  they  would  be  able  to  cut  their  way  through 
all  opposing  obstacles,  and  reach  the  Pedee.  His 
address  was  answered  by  whispers  of  applause,  and 
having  formed  the  cavalry  and  infantry  into  two  col- 
umns, he  awaited  anxiously  the  break  of  day,  to  give 
the  signal  for  action.  It  soon  appeared,  and  the  col- 
umns advanced  on  the  great  road ;  infantry  in  front, 
baggage  in  the  centre,  and  cavalry  in  the  rear.  As 
soon  as  the  head  of  the  column  reached  the  road,  the 
van  officer  proceeding  a  few  hundred  yards  received 
the  same  account  that  had  been  given  from  the  sen- 
tinel that  hadfired  last. 

The  enigma  remained  unexplained,  and  no  enemy 
being  in  view,  there  could  be  but  little  doubt  that  the 
attack  was  to  be  from  ambushment,  and  the  column 
moved  slowly  on,  expecting  every  moment  to  receive 
their  fire.    But  the  van  officer's  attention  having  been 


LE  e's    PARTIS  A  N     LEOION. 


01 


accidentally  attracted,  he  examined,  and  found  along 
the  road,  the  tracks  of  a  large  pack  of  wolves.     The 
mystery  was  now   solved ;   it  was  evident  that  the 
supposed  enemy  was  no  other  than  the  pack  of  wild 
heasts,  which,  turned  from  their  route  by  the  fire  of 
the  sentinels,  had  passed  still  from  point  to  point  in 
a  wide  circuit,  bent  upon  the  attainment  of  their  object. 
A  quantity  of  provisions  had  been  stored  some  time 
previously  on  their  line  of  march,  but  having  become 
spoiled,  it  was    abandoned    in  the  vicinity    of   the 
night's  encampment,  and  the  wolves  had  been  dis- 
turbed by  the  videts,  in  the  nightly  progress  to  their 
regale.     The  agitation  instantly  subsided,  pnd  wit  and 
merriment  flashed  on  all  sides,  '*  every  one  appearing 
anxious  to  shift  the  derision  from  himself  upon  his 
neighbour}  the  commandant  himself  coming  in  for  his 
share ;  and  as  it  was  the  interest  of  the  many  to  fix 
the  stigma  on  the  few,  the  corps  unanimously  charged 
the  officer  of  the  day,  the  guards,  the  patrols  and 
piquets,  with  gross  stupidity,  hard  bordering  upon  co.v- 
ardicr  :"  nevertheless,  they  were  none  the  less  relieved 
by  the  happy  termination  of  an  adventure  attended  by 
80  many  circumstances  naturally  alarming,  and  it  long 
passed  as  an  excellent  joke  in  the  Legion,  under  the 
title  of  the  «  Wolf  reconnoitre." 

The  music  sounded  merrily,  and  the  column  march- 
ed on,  elate  with  the  fun  and  novelty  of  the  adventure, 
and  of  the  buglers  none  blew  a  more  cheery  strain  than 


93 


LEBB     PARTIS  AN    LEGION. 


little  Jack  Ellis  the  bugler  of  Armstrong's  troop.    He 
was  a  fine  boy,  small  and  intelligent,  as  well  as  young 
and  handsome,  and  a  general  favourite  in  the  Legion* 
Poor  little  fellow !  he  met  his  death  under  circumstan- 
ces peculiarly  tragic  and  cruel,  not  long  after.    When 
the  Southern  army,  under  Green,  was  slowly  making 
its  masterly  retreat  before  Cornwallis,  the  Legion  form- 
ed part  of  the  rear-guard,  and  was  consequently  almost 
continually  in  sight  of  the  van  of  the  enemy,  com* 
manded  by  Brigadier-General  O'Hara.    The  duty  de- 
volving upon  it,  severe  in  the  day,  was  extremely  so  in 
the  night,  for  numerous  patrols  and  piquets  were  con- 
stantly required  to  be  on  the  alert,  to  prevent  the  ene- 
my from  taking  advantage  of  the  darkness  to  get  near 
the  main  army  by  circuitous  routes,  so  that  one  half 
of  the  troops  of  the  rear  guard  were  alternately  put  on 
duty  day  and  night,  and  the  men  were  not  able  to  get 
more  than  six  hours  sleep  out  of  the  forty-eight.     But 
the  men  were  in  fine  spirits,  notwithstanding  the  great 
fatigue  to  which  they  were  subjected.     They  usually, 
at  the  break  of  day,  hurried  on,  to  gain  as  great  a  dis- 
tance in  advance  as  possible,  that  they  might  securie 
their  breakfast,  the  only  meal  during  the  rapid  and 
hazardous  retreat.     One  drizzly  and  cold  morning, 
the  officers  and  dragoons,  in  pursuance  of  this  custom, 
had  hurried  on  to  the  front,  and  just  got  their  com  cakes 
and  meat  on  the  coals,  when  a  countryman,  mounted  on 
a  small  and  meagre  pony,  came  galloping  up,  and  has- 


LEES    PARTISAN     LEOION. 


98 


tily  asking  for  the  commanding  officer,  he  informed  him 
that  the  British  column,  leaving  the  main  line' of  march, 
were  moving  obliquely  in  a  different  direction,  and 
that,  discovering  the  manoeuvre  from  a  field  where  he 
was  burning  brush,  he  had  run  home,  caught  the  first 
horse  he  could  lay  his  hands  upon,  and  hurried  along 
with  the  information.  Unwilling  to  believe  the  report 
of  the  countryman,  although  he  could  not  well  doubt 
it,  and  reluctant  to  disturb  so  materially  the  comfort  of 
the  men,  as  to  deprive  them  of  the  breakfast  for  which 
they  were  waiting  with  keen  appetitesi  Lee  ordered 
Captain  Armstrong  to  take  one  section  of  horse,  ac- 
companied by  the  countryman,  to  return  on  the  route, 
and  having  reconnoitred,  to  make  his  report. 

Circumstances,  however,  strengthening  him  in  the  be- 
lief that  the  information  of  the  countryman  was  correct, 
he  took  a  squadron  of  cavalry,  and  followed  on  to  the 
support  of  Armstrong,  whom  he  overtook  at  no  great  dis- 
tance ahead.  Perceiving  no  sign  of  the  enemy,  he  again 
concluded  that  the  countryman  was  mistaken.  He 
therefore  directed  Armstrong  to  take  the  guide  and  three 
dragoons,  and  to  advance  still  further  on  the  road,  while 
he  returned  with  the  squadron  to  finish  their  breakfast. 
The  countryman  mounted  on  his  sorry  nag,  protested 
against  being  thus  left  to  take  care  of  himself,  asserting 
that  though  the  dragoons  on  their  spirited  and  powerful 
horses  were  sure  of  safety,  if  pursued — he,  on  his  jaded 


04 


LEE*S     PARTISAN     LEGION. 


hack,  was  equally  sure  of  being  taken.  Lee  acknow- 
ledged the  danger  of  the  friendly  guide,  dismounted 
the  little  bugler,  and  giving  the  countryman  his  horse, 
he  placed  Ellis  upon  the  hack,  sending  him  on  in 
front  to  report  to  the  commanding  officer.  After  having 
returned  a  short  distance,  the  squadron  entered  the 
woods,  on  the  road  side,  and  the  dragoons  leisurely 
proceeded  to  finish  their  breakfast^ — but  they  had 
hardly  got  it  out  of  their  haversacks,  when  a  firing  of 
musketry  was  heard,  and  almost  immediately  after  the 
clatter  of  horses'  hoofs  coming  on  at  full  gallop.  The 
next  moment,  Armstrong,  with  his  dragoons  and  the 
countryman  came  in  sight,  pursued  by  a  troop  of  Tarle- 
ton's  dragoons,  at  the  top  of  their  speed. 

Lee  saw  Armstrong  with  his  small  party  well  in 
front  and  hard  in  hand,  and  felt  no  anxiety  about  th  im, 
as  he  knew  that  their  horses  were  so  superior  to  those 
of  the  enemy  that  they  were  perfectly  safe,  but  the 
danger  of  the  biigler,  who  could  be  but  little  ahead, 
immediately  caused  him  serious  uneasiness.  Wishing 
however,  to  let  the  British  squadron  get  as  far  from 
support  as  possible,  he  continued  in  tho  woods  for  a  fevir 
mon\ents,  intending  to  interpose  in  time  to  save  the  boy. 
Having  let  them  get  a  sufficient  distance,  and  assuring 
himself  that  there  was  nothing  coming  up  to  their 
support,  he  put  the  squadron  in  motion  and  appeared 
on  the  road,  but  only  in  time  to  see  the  enraged  dra- 
goons overtake  and  sabre  the  poor  little  suppliant,  as 


LEES     PAR  TIS  AN   LEGION. 


95 


he  in  vain  implored  for  quarter.  Infuriated  at  the 
sight,  he  gave  orders  to  charge,  and  the  English  officer 
had  barely  time  to  form,  when  Lee's  squadron  was 
upon  them  like  a  whirlwind — killing,  prostrating,  and 
unhorsing  almost  the  whole  of  the  force  in  an  instant, 
while  the  captain,  and  the  few  left  unhurt  endeavour- 
ed to  escape.  Ordering  Lieutenant  Lewis  to  follow  on 
in  pursuit,  with  strict  orders  to  give  no  quarter,  an  order 
dictated  by  the  sanguinary  act  that  they  had  just 
witnessed,  he  placed  the  dying  boy  in  the  arms  of  two 
of  the  dragoons,  directing  them  to  proceed  onwards  to 
the  camp,  and  immediately  after  pushed  on  to  the  sup- 
port of  Lewis,  whom  he  soon  met  returning  with  the 
English  captain  and  several  of  his  dragoons,  prisoners 
— the  officer  unhurt,  but  the  men  severely  cut  in  the 
face,  neck,  and  shoulders.  Reprimanding  Lewis  on 
the  spot  for  disobedience  of  orders,  he  peremptorily 
charged  the  British  officer  with  the  atrocity  that  they 
had  just  witnessed,  and  ordered  him  to  prepare  for 
instant  death.  The  officer  urged  that  he  had  in  vain 
endeavoured  to  save  the  boy,  that  his  dragoons  were 
intoxicated,  and  would  not  obey  his  orders,  and  he  beg- 
ged that  he  might  not  be  sacrificed,  stating  that  in  the 
slaughter  of  Lt.  Col.  Buford's  command,  he  had  used 
his  greatest  exertions,  and  succeeded  in  'saving  the 
lives  of  many  of  the  Americans.  This,  in  some  mea- 
sure mollified  Lee,  but  just  then  overtaking  the  speech- 
less and  dying  boy,  expiring  in  the  arms  of  the  soldiers, 


06 


LEE    8     PARTISAN     LEOION. 


his  bright  and  handsome  face,  changed  in  the  ghastly 
agony  of  death,  he  returned  with  unrelenting  sttirnness 
to  his  first  decision  and  informed  the  Englishman  that 
he  should  execute  him  in  the  next  vale  through  which 
they  were  to  pass,  and  furnishing  him  with  a  pencil 
and  paper,  desired  him  to  make  such  note  as  he  wished 
to  his  friends,  which  he  pledged  him  his  word  should 
be  sent  to  the  British  General.     The  ill-fated  soldier 
proceeded  to  write,  when  the  British  van  approaching 
in  sight,  the  prisoner  was  sent  on  to  Col.  Williams  in 
front,  who,  ignorant  of  the  murder,  and  of  Lee's  deter- 
mination to  make  an  example  of  him,  in  his  turn*  for- 
warded him  on  to  head  quarters — thus  luckily  saving 
his  life.     Eighteen  of  the  British  dragoons  fell  in  the 
charge,  and  were  buried  by  Cornwallis  as  he  came  up, 
hut  the  American's  had  time  to  do  no  more  than  lay 
the  body  of  the  poor  little  bugler  in  the  woods  on  the 
"Bide  of  the  road,  trusting  to  the  charity  of  the  country 
people  to  inter  it,  when  they  were  obliged  to  resume 
their  retreat.      It  should  be  borne  in  mind  that  Lee's 
humane  disposition  could  only  be  excited  to  such  sum- 
mary vengeance  by  the  cruel  and  unwarrantable  mur- 
der that  they  had  just  witnessed,  and  by  the  frequent 
acts  of  atrocity  which  had  been  repeatedly  enacted  by 
this  same  corps. 

Perhaps  the  fated  destiny  which  frequently  appears 
to  await  the  soldier,  hanging  over  him  like  a  shield 
while  he  passes  through  the  most  desperate  danger, 


LBB'S   PARTIIAN     LBOION. 


97 


until  the  appointed  hour  arrives,  was  never  more  appa- 
rent than  in  tlie  case  of  Lt.  Col.  Websteri  of  the 
British  army  in  this  same  retreat.  When  the  rear  of 
the  American  army,  composed  as  has  been  observed 
principally  by  the  Legion,  had  passed  the  Reedy 
Fork,  the  British  van  under  the  command  of  Webster, 
endeavoured  to  ford  the  river  and  bring  them  into  action, 
a  point  which  Comwallis  was  anxious  to  attain,  but 
which  was  entirely  foreign  to  the  plan  of  Greene, 
whose  object  was  to  wear  out  his  pursuers.  Under 
the  cover  of  a  dense  fog,  the  British  had  attained  a 
short  distance  of  the  Legion  before  they  were  discover- 
ed. They  made  their  appearance  on  the  opposite  bank 
of  the  river,  and  after  halting  a  few  moments,  descend- 
ed the  hill  and  approached  the  water,  but  receiving  a 
heavy  fire  of  musketry  and  rifles,  they  fell  back  and 
quickly  reascending,  were  again  rallied  on  the  margin 
of  the  bank.  Col.  Webster  rode  up,  calling  upon  the- 
soldiers  in  a  loud  voice  to  follow,  and  rushing  down  the 
hill,  at  their  head)  amid  a  galling  fire  poured  from  the 
Legion  troops,  he  plunged  into  the  water.  In  the 
woods  occupied  by  the  riflemen,  was  an  old  log  school- 
house,  a  little  to  the  right  of  the  ford.  The  mud 
stuffed  between  the  ^ogs  had  mostly  fallen  out,  and  the 
apertures  admitted  the  use  of  rifles  with  ease.  In  this 
house  Lee  had  posted  five  and  twenty  select  marksmen 
from  the  mountain  militia,  with  orders  to  forego  engag- 
ing in  the  general  action,  and  directions  to  hold  them- 
7 


98 


LEE     S    PARTISAN     LEGION. 


t. 


selves  in  reserve  for  any  particular  object  which  might 
present.  *<  The  attention  of  this  party  being  attracted 
by  Webster,  as  he  plunged  into  the  water,  they  singled 
him  out  as  their  mark.  The  stream  being  deep,  and 
the  bottom  rugged,  he  advanced  slowly,  the  soldiers, 
some  of  them,  holding  on  by  his  stirrup-leathers, — and 
one  by  one  they  discharged  their  rifles  at  him,  each 
man  sure  of  knocking  him  over,  and,  having  re-loaded, 
eight  jor  nine  of  them,  emptied  their  guns  at  him  a 
second  time,  yet  strange  to  relate,  neither  horse  nor 
rider  received  a  single  ball.  The  twenty-five  marks- 
men were  celebrated  for  their  superior  skill,  and  it  was 
a  common  amusement  for  them  to  place  an  apple  on 
the  end  of  a  ramrod  and  hold  it  out  at  arm's  length,  as 
a  mark  for  their  comrades  to  fire  at,  when  many  balls 
would  pass  through  the  apple,  yet  the  British  oflicer, 
mounted  on  a  stout  horse,  slowly  moving  through  a  deep 
"water  course,  was  singled  out  and  fired  at  thirty-two  or 
three  times  successively,  and  yet  remained  untouched, 
and  succeeded  in  effecting  a  lodgment  on  the  bank, 
where  he  formed  his  troops  under  a  heavy  fire."  This 
gallant  officer,  and  polished  gentleman,  the  favourite  of 
Cornwallis,  subsequently  fell  at  the  battle  of  Guilford 
Court-House,  not  more  regretted  by  his  brother  soldiers, 
than  admired  by  those  of  the  American  army.  ■ 

There  is  nothing  more  true,  than  that  in  war  as  in 
love,  much  depends  upon  accident,  and  an  alarm  is  fre- 
quently conveyed  and  a  victory  won,  by  circumstances 


lbe's   partisan    legion. 


99 


entirely  the  act  of  chance.  As  a  case  in  point.  In  the 
retreat  of  the  British  after  the  battle  of  Monks'  Comer, 
Lt.  Col.  Stuart  ordered  all  the  arms  belonging  to  the 
dead  and  wounded  to  be  collected,  and  when  the  re- 
treating enemy  had  marched  on,  they  were  set  fire  to 
by  the  rear  guard.  As  many  of  the  muskets  were 
loaded,  an  irregular  discharge  followed,  resembling  the 
desultory  fire  which  usually  precedes  a  battle.  The 
retreating  army  immediately  supposed,  that  Greene  was 
up  and  had  commenced  an  attack  on  their  rear — and 
the  dismay  and  confusion  was  so  great,  that  the  wa- 
goners cut  the  traces  of  their  horses  and  galloped  off, 
leaving  the  wagons  on  the  route.  The  followers  of 
the  army  fled  in  like  manner,  and  the  terror  was  rapidly 
increasing,  when  the  cessation  of  the  $ring  quelled  the 
alarm. 

But  the  most  exciting  incident  that  our  fellow  voy- 
ager related,  and  one  which  would  well  merit  the  at- 
tention of  the  painter,  was  the  spirited  afl*air  at  Quin- 
by's  Bridge.  When  the  British  army  in  their  turn 
were  retreating,  Sumpter,  Marion  and  Lee  frequently 
were  able  to  act  in  concert.  The  19th  British  Regi- 
ment, Lt.  Col.  Coates,  having  become  isolated  at 
Monks'  Corner,  Marion  and  Lee  determined  to  fall 
upon  it,  and  cut  it  off  by  surprise  before  it  could  ob- 
tain relief.  The  British  officer  having  taken  the  pre- 
caution to  secure  the  bridge  across  the  Cooper  river 
by  a  strong  detachment,  it  became  necessary  for  them 


100 


LBE's   PAR  TIB  AN    LEOION. 


to  make  a  long  circuit,  through  the  deep  sands  in  the 
hottest  part  of  the  summer,  before  they  could  form  a 
junction  with  Sumpter,  whose  aid  was  required  in  the 
intended  attack.  The  junction  was  not  effected  until 
evening,  and  the  attack  was  necessarily  deferred  until 
the  following  morning ;  but  about  midnight  the  whole 
sky  becoming  illuminated  by  a  great  conflagration,  it 
was  evident  that  the  enemy  had  taken  the  alarm.  They 
had  set  fire  to  the  church  to  destroy  the  stores,  and  had 
decamped  in  silence.  By  the  neglect  of  the  militiai 
who  had  deserted  a  bridge  at  which  they  were 
stationed,  the  enemy  had  been  able  to  draw  off,  and 
obtain  a  considerable  distance  in  advance,  before  their 
retreat  was  discovered.  Lee  immediately  followed 
on  with  the  cavalry  in  pursuit  of  the  main  body,  but 
was  unable  to  come  up  with  it,  until  he  had  arrived 
in  the  neighbourhood  of  Quinby's  Bridge,  about  eigh- 
teen miles  from  Monks'  Corner.  Upon  his  first  ap- 
proach,  he  discovered  the  baggage  of  the  regiment 
under  a  rear  guard  of  about  one  hundred  men,  advan- 
cing along  a  narrow  road,  the  margin  of  which  was 
bordered  by  a  deep  swamp  on  both  sides.  As  soon  as 
the  cavalry  came  in  view,  the  British  ofiicer  formed 
his  men  across  the  road,  which  they  had  hardly  effect- 
ed, when  the  charge  was  sounded,  and  the  Legion  ca- 
valry rushed  upon  them  with  drawn  swords  at  full 
gallop.  The  voice  of  the  British  ofiicer  was  distinctly 
heard :  *<  Front  rank,-^bayonets — second  rank,— fire ! 


n 


LEE8     PARTiSAir    LEGION. 


101 


— and  as  no  discharge  immediately  followed,  the  cavalry 
officers  felt  extreme  solicitude,  lest  its  reservation  was 
meant  to  make  it  the  more  fatal  on  their  near  approach, 
for  on  the  narrow  road,  and  in  thd  close  column  in 
which  they  were  rushing  on,  a  well-directed  fire  would 
have  emptied  half  of  their  saddles — but  happily  the 
soldiers,  alarmed  by  the  formidable  appearance  of  the 
cavalry,  threw  down  their  arms  and  supplicated  for 
quarter,  which  the  cavalry  were  most  happy  to  grant 
them.  The  prisoners  being  secured,  the  main  body  of 
the  cavalry  pushed  on  under  Armstrong  for  the  bridge, 
which  was  still  about  three  miles  in  front,  in  the  hope 
of  cutting  off  the  enemy  before  they  should  succeed  in 
reaching  it.  As  Armstrong  came  in  sight,  he  found  that 
Coates  had  passed  the  bridge,  and  that  he  was  indolently 
reposing  on  the  opposite  side  of  the  river,  awaiting  his 
rear  guard  and  baggage.  He  had,  by  way  of  precau- 
tion, taken  up  the  planks  from  the  bridge,  letting  them 
lie  loosely  on  the  sleepers,  intending  as  soon  as  the 
rear  should  have  crossed,  to  destroy  it.  Seeing  the 
enemy  with  the  bridge  thus  interposed,  which  he  knew 
was  contrary  to  the  commandant's  anticipations,  Arm- 
strong drew  up,  and  sent  back  word  to  Lee,  who  was 
still  with  the  prisoners,  requesting  orders,  never  com- 
municating the  fact  that  the  bridge  was  interposed. 
Lee's  adjutant  soon  came  galloping  back  with  the  la- 
conic answer  : — "  The  order  of  the  day,  sir,  is  to  fall 
upon  the  enemy,  without  regard  to  consequences,'* 


102 


lbb's  partisan  legion. 


The  gallant  Armstrong  for  a  moment  leaned  forward 
in  his  saddle,  towards  the  adjutant,  as  if  thunder-struck, 
with  this  reflection  on  his  courage, — in  the  next  his 
sword  glanced  like  a  streak  of  light  around  his  head, 
his  noble  horse  leapt  with  a  snort  clear  of  the  ground, 
as  the  spur-rowels  were  buried  to  the  gaffs  in  his  sides, 
and  in  another  shouting  in  a  voice  of  thunder — **  Legion 
cavalry,  charge  ! "  at  the  head  of  his  section,  he  cleared 
the  bridge,  the  horses  throwing  off  the  loose  planks  in 
every  direction,  the  next  instant  driving  the  soldiers 
headlong  from  the  howitzer  which  they  had  mounted 
at  the  other  end  to  defend  it,  he  was  cutting  and  slash- 
ing in  the  very  t;entre  of  the  British  regiment,  which, 
taken  completely  by  surprise,  threw  down  their  arms, 
retreating  in  every  direction.  The  horses  of  Arm- 
strong's section  had  thrown  off  the  planks  as  they 
cleared  the  bridge,  leaving  a  yawning  chasm,  beneath 
which  the  deep  black  stream  was  rushing  turbidly  on- 
wards ;  but  Lt.  Carrington,  at  the  head  of  his  section, 
took  the  leap  and  closed  with  Armstrong,  engaged  in  a 
desperate  personal  encounter  with  Lt.  Col.  Coates, 
who  had  had  barely  time  to  throw  himself  \»  ith  a  few 
of  his  officers  behind  some  baggage-wagons,  where 
they  were  parrying  the  sabre  cuts  made  by  the  dra- 
goons at  their  heads.  Most  of  the  soldiers,  alarmed  at 
the  sudden  attack,  had  abandoned  their  officers,  and 
were  running  across  the  fields,  to  shelter  themselves 
in  a  neighbouring  farm-house.     Lee,  by  this  time,  had 


'*-'x»'»fr-m 


lbs' 8    PARTISAN   LE0ION* 


108 


himself  got   up  to  the  bridge)  where  0'Neal>  with 
the  third  section  had  halted,  the  chasm  having  been  sd 
much  enlarged  by  Carrington's  horses  throwing  off 
additional  planks,  that  his  horses  would  not  take  the 
leap,  and  seeing  the  howitzer  abandoned,  and  the  whole 
regiment  dispersed,    except   the    few  officers    who 
were  defending  themselves  with  their  swords,  while 
they  called  upon  the  flying  soldiers  for  assistance,  he 
proceeded  to  recover  and  replace  the  planks.     The 
river  was  deep  in  mud,  and  still  deeper  in  water,  so 
that  the  dragoons  could  neither  get  a  footing  to  re-place 
the  planks,  nor  a  firm  epot  from  which  they  might 
swim    their  horses    to  the    aid  of  their   comrades. 
Seeing  this  posture  of  affairs,  some  of  the  bravest  of 
the  British  soldiers  began  to  hurry  back  to  the  assist' 
ance  of  their  officers,  and  Armstrong  and  Carringtonf 
being  unable  to  sustain  with  only  one  troop  of  dragoons, 
80  unequal  a  combat,  they  abandoned  the  contest,  forcing 
tibeir  way  down  the  great  road,  into  the  woods  on  the 
margin  of  the  stream,  in  the  effort  to  rejoin  the  corp84 
Relieved  from  the  immediate  danger,  Coates  hastened 
back  to  the  bridge,  and  opened  a  fire  from  the  deserted 
howitzer  upon  Lee  and  the  soldiers,  who  were  fruit- 
lessly striving  to  repair  the  bridge,  and  being  armed 
only  with  their  sabres,  which  the  chasm  made  per- 
fectly useless,  as  they  could  not  reach  the   enemy 
across  it,  they  were  also  forced  to  give  up  the  attempt, 
and  retire  without  the  range  of  the  fire  from  the  gun- 


104 


lee's  partisan  legion. 


[/ 


fj 


Marion  shortly  after  coming  up,  in  conjunction  with 
Lee  marched  some  distance  down  the  banks,  where 
they  were  enabled  to  ford  the  stream,  and  effect  a  pas. 
sage.  In  the  edge  of  the  evening,  they  reached  the 
farm-house,  but  found  that  Coates  had  fortified  himself 
within  it,  with  his  howitzer,  and  was  thus  impregnable 
to  cavalry.  *'  While  halting  in  front,  Armstrong  and 
Carrington  came  up  with  their  shattered  sections.  Nei- 
ther of  the  officers  were  hurt,  but  many  of  the  bravest 
dragoons  were  killed,  and  still  more  wounded.  Some 
of  their  finest  fellows — men,  who  had  passed  through 
the  whole  war  esteemed  and  ac^mired,  had  fallen  in 
this  honourable  but  unsuccessful  attempt."  Being 
without  artillery,  and  within  striking  distance  of 
Charleston,  they  were  obliged,  fatigued  as  they  were,  to 
commence  their  retreat.  Placing  the  wounded  in  the 
easiest  posture  for  conveyance,  and  laying  the  dead  on 
the  pommels  of  their  saddles,  the  Legion  counter- 
marched fifteen  miles ;  at  its  close,  burying  in  sadness 
and  grief  in  one  common  sepulchre  the  bodies  of  those 
that  had  fallen. 

These  anecdotes  of  the  Legion  are  but  a  few  of  the 
many  stirring  and  spirited  narrations  with  which  Lee 
whiled  away  the  time,  as  we  glided  along  on  our  re- 
turn up  the  river.  His  own  observations  and  adven- 
tures in  travelling  over  the  world  were  not  wanting  for 
our  amusement,  for,  with  a  mind  well  prepared  for  its 
enjoyment,  he  had  passed  the  years  that  had  inter- 


..u».<l<win>M  ttf-tm^mfiiHtiMUKiittflltii^'k^ 


LSl's   PARTISAN   LEOION. 


105 


vened,  since  I  last  saw  him,  in  travelling  leisurely  Of  fif 
Europe  and  the  East.    With  the  true  philosophy  of 
life,  calling  all  men  brothers,  and  restrained  by  no  nar- 
row prejudices  of  country  or  habit,  he  had  entered 
eagerly  into  the  manners  and  participated  in  the  amuse- 
ments of  those  around  him.     First  after  the  hounds  in 
England,  he  shouted  *«  tally  ho !  "  with  all  the  enthu- 
siasm of  the  veriest  sportsman  in  the  hunt ;  while  his 
voice  was  heard  equally  loud  and  jovial  in  the  wild 
and  half  frantic  chorus  of  the  drinking  and  smoking 
students  of  Germany.     He  scrupled  not  to  wear  his 
beard  long»  and  partake  of  the  hard  black  loaf  in  the 
cabin  of  the  Russian  boor,  whilC}  with  equal  equani- 
mity  he  wore  his  turban,  and  smoked  his  chiboque 
cross-legged  in  the  cafTarets  of  Turkey.     He  climbed 
the  huge  pyramids,  and  their  dark  and  silent  chambers 
echoed  the  sounds  of  his  voice,  as  he  called  on  Che- 
ops,  Isis  and  Orus ;   and,  kneeling  in  the  gorgeous 
mosque  of  Omar,  he  worshipped  the  true  God,  while 
the  muzzeim  from  its  minarets  was  proclaiming,  that 
Mahomet  was  his  prophet.     He  had  luxuriated  amid 
the  never-dying  works  of  the  great  masters  at  Florence^ 
and,  lulled  by  the  harmonious  chaunt  of  the  gondolier) 
had  swept  over  the  moonlit  lagoons  of  Venice.     He 
had  whirled  in   all  the  gaiety  of  living  Paris,   and 
measured  with  careful  steps  the  silent  streets  of  dead 
Herculaneum  and  Pompeii.     He  had  stood  amid  the 
awful  stillness  on  the  glittering  ice-covered  summits  of 


100 


LBEB   PARTISAN   LEGION. 


Mont  Blanc,  and  looked  fearlessly  down  into  the  great 
roaring  caverns  of  fire  boiling  in  the  crater  of  Vesu- 
vius— but  now  there  was  a  sadness  about  his  heart 
which  rarely  lighted  up,  and,  as  I  have  observed,  it  was 
only  under  momentary  excitement  that  he  blazed  into 
brilliant  entertainment. 

As  the  fresh  breeze  wafted  us  swiftly  onwards,  Ve- 
nus, mid  the  stars  trembling  in  unnumbered  myriads* 
rivalled  with  her  silvery  rays  the  great  round-orbed 
moon,  sailing  joyously  in  her  career  high  in  the  hea- 
vens above  us, — and  soon  the  bright  beacon  on  the 
plantation  shore,  lighted  for  our  guidance,  shone  stea- 
dily over  the  dark  water,  and  ere  long  we  were  all 
quietly  seated  at  the  supportable,  with  our  beautiful 
hostess  at  its  head, — again  in  Tom's  cottage  on  the 
banks  of  the  Potomac. 


Note. — The  incidents  related  in  the  above  article  are  derived 
firom  **  Lee's  Southern  Campaigns  **  and  **  Col,  Gardner's  Mill. 
tary  Anecdotes,"  where,  if  he  has  not  already  pemsed  them,  the 
leader  will  find  much  to  interest  and  amuse  him. 


mm^» 


HUDSON  RIVER. 


Here  we  are  met  againi  all  booted  and  spurredt  and 
ready  for  another  journey.  Come,  let  us  make  the 
most  of  our  time  on  this  mundane  sphere,  for  verily 
we  are  but  two  of  the  automata  of  the  great  moving 
panorama  which  is  so  rapidly  hastening  o'er  its  sur- 
face— two  of  the  unnumbered  millions  who,  lifted 
from  our  cradles,  are  hurrying  with  like  equal  haste 
towards  the  great  dark  curtain  of  the  future,  where, 
drawing  its  gloomy  folds  aside,  we  shall  pass  behind 
and  disappear  for  ever.  Therefore  let  us  hasten ;  for 
though  some  of  us  complacently  imagine  that  we  are 
bound  on  our  own  special  road  and  chosen  joumey» 
yet,  surely  we  are  but  travelling  the  path  which  has 
heen  marked  out  for  us  by  an  all*seeing  Providence  ; 
and  though,  like  soldiers,  we  may  be  marching,  as 
we  suppose,  to  good  billets  and  snug  quarters,  yet 
perhaps,  before  the  day's  route  be  closed,  we  shall  be 
plunged  into  the  centre  of  the  battle-field,  with  sad  cur* 
tailment  of  our  history.  Tempus  fugit !  Therefore  let ' 
us  hasten,  for,  in  a  few  short  years,  some  modem  Ham* 
let  o'er  our  tomb'Stones  lAius  shall  moralize :  **  Here 
be  two  fellows  tucked  up  right  cosily  in  their  last 


108 


HUDSON     RIVER. 


quarters,  *  at  their  heads  a  grass -green  turf,  and  at  their 
heels  a  stone.'  Humph !  for  all  their  stillness,  I  war- 
rant me,  theyVe  strutted  their  mimic  stage,  and  flaunted 
with  the  best ;  they Ve  had  their  ups  and  downs,  their 
whims  and  fancies,  their  schemes  and  projects,  their 
loves  and  hates, — have  been  elated  with  vast  imagin- 
ings, and  depressed  to  the  very  ocean's  depths ;  and  now 
their  little  day  and  generation  passed,  they're  settled 
to  their  rest.  The  school-boy  astride  on  one's  me- 
mento, with  muddy  heels  kicks  out  his  epitaph,  while 
the  other's  name  is  barely  visible  among  the  thistle's 
aspiring  tops, — ^yet  both  alike  have  rendered,  with  the 
whole  human  family,  the  same  brief  epitome  of  history. 
« They  laughed — they  groaned — they  wept — and  here 
they  are,'  for  such  are  but  the  features  of  bright,  con- 
fiding youth,  stem  manhood's  trials,  and  imbecile  old 
age."  And  this  same  sage  Hamlet's  right ;  therefore, 
without  more  ado,  let  us  get  us  on  our  travels./ 

So,  here  we  are  in  the  Jerseys.  Now  westward 
shall  lie  our  course.  Here  come  the  cars.  Quick 
— jump  in — ^here  is  a  good  seat,  close  by  the  old 
gentleman  in  the  India-rubber  cape.  Ding,  ding~- 
ding,  ding.  There  goes  the  bell.  Shwist,  shwist. 
We  are  off.  Clank — jirk — click — click — clickety— 
click — click.  Here  we  go.  We  fly  over  the  bridges, 
and  through  the  tunnels ;  the  rail  fences  spin  by 
us  in  ribands ;  the  mile-stones  play  leap-frog ;  the 
abutments  dash  by  us.     Screech !   the  cattle  jump 


HUD  SON     R  IVE  R. 


100 


like  mad  out  of  our  way.  Already  at  Jersey  City  T 
We  paddle  across.  Ay,  here  we  are*  just  in  time,  on 
board  the  "  Swallow.*'  What  a  pandemonium  of  racket, 
and  noise,  and  confusion !  Steam  yelling,  bells  ringing, 
boys  and  negroes  bawling,  porters  and  hackmon  hurry- 
ing.— "  Get  out  of  my  way,  you  dirty  little  baboon, 
with  your  papers." — "  Thank  yout  madam,  no  oran- 
ges."—"AH  aboard.*'— Tinkle,  tinkle.— The  walk-  ' 
ing-beam  rises,  the  heavy  wheels  splash. — We  shoot 
out  into  the  stream. — We  make  a  graceful  curve,  and| 
simultaneously  with  five  other  steamerSf  stretch  like 
race-horses  up  the  mnjcstic  Hudson. 

How  beautifully  the  Narrows  and  the  Ocean  open  to 
our  view,  and  the  noble  bay,  studded  with  its  islands, 
and  fortresses,  and  men-of-war,  "  tall,  high  admirals," 
with  frowning  batteries  and  chequered  sides.  In  what 
graceful  amity  float  the  nations'  emblems — the  Tri- 
colour, the  Red  Cross,  the  Black  Eagle,  the  Stars 
and  Stripes.  But  we  take  the  lead.  Fire  up — fire  up, ' 
engineer,— her  namesake  cuts  the  air  not  more  swiftly 
than  our  fleet  boat  her  element.  Still  as  a  mirror  lies 
the  tranquil  Water.  The  dark  pallisades  above  us, 
with  fringed  and  picturesque  outline,  are  reflected  on 
its  polished  surface ;  and  the  lordly  sloops,  see  how 
lazily  they  roll  and  pitch  on  the  long  undulating  swell 
made  by  our  progress,  their  scarlet  pennons  quivering 
on  its  surface  as  it  regains  its  smoothness. 

How  rich  and  verdant  extend  thy  shores,  delightful 


110 


HUDSON     R I VER. 


river !  Oh !  kindly  spirit — Crayon,  Diedrick,  Irving* 
whate*er  we  call  thee, — with  what  delightful  Indian 
summer  of  rustic  story,  of  dreamy  legend,  hast  thou 
invested  them  ?  Lo !  as  we  slide  along,  what  moving 
panorama  presents  itself?  Phlegmatic  Mynheers,  in 
sleepy  Elysium,  evolve  huge  smoke* wreaths  of  the 
fragrant  weed  as  they  watch  thy  placid  stream.  Bloom- 
ing Katrinas,  budding  like  roses  out  of  their  bod- 
dices,  coquette  with  adoring  Ichabods, — sturdy,  broad- 
breeched  beaux,  sound  **  boot  and  saddle."  Roaring 
Broms  dash  along  on  old  Gun-powders.  Headless 
horsemen  thunder  onwards  through  Haunted  hollows 
—heads  on  saddle-bow.  Dancing,  laughing  negroes 
— irate,  rubicund  trumpeters — huge  Dutch  merry-mak- 
ings— groaning  feasts,  and  loafing,  hen-pecked  Rips, 
pass  in  review  before  us.  And  now.  n>i  we  open  the 
Tappan  Zee,  see !  see  Old  Hendrick, — see  the  oW 
fellow  in  his  scarlet  cloak,  his  gallant  hanger,  cocked- 
hat,  and  many-buttoned  breeches — see  how  the  huge 
clouds  of  smoke,  encircling  his  nose,  float  upwards,  as> 
seated  on  his  lofty  poop,  he  sluggishly  lays  his  course. 
See  the  old  Dutchman — no — stop  !  stop  ! — 'tis  but  a 
creature  of  thy  fantasy,  floating  in  the  setting  sun- 
light. Oh !  historian  of  Columbus,  with  thy  fellow- 
spirit,  him  of  the  **  North  Star,"  and  the  '*  Evening 
Wind,"  gei*ily,  yet  sorrowfully  you  float  above  the 
miasma  clouds  of  ,^ain,  that  in  their  poisonous  wreaths 
envelope  your  covn  .ymep.     In  the  evening  twilight 


:^ 


H  UD80N    RI VCR. 


Ill 


thy  beacoiit  Stony  Point,  throws  far  n.-i  streatniag  rays 
o'er  the  darkening  scenery,  difTc  rent,  I  w«  i^n,  when 
mid  midnight  mist  and  stillness,  mid  cannon-blaze  and 
roar,  '*  Mad  Anthony's"  attacking  columns  simultane- 
ously struck  the  flag-stafT  in  thy  centre.     The  sparks 
stream  Fclei-like  from  our  chimneys,  as  we  enter 
your  Jaiiv  t,j.i1)iace,  ye  Highlands  !    Hark  !  the  roll  of 
the  (Irui  ',  as  we  round  the  bend — thy  beautiful  plateau^ 
West  Poiut,  with  its  gallant  spirits,  is  above  us.     Suc- 
cess to  thoe,  school  of  the  brave  !   Engineers  for  her 
hours  of  peace,  soldiers  in  war  to  lead  her  armies,  dost 
thou  furnish  to  thy  country — brave,  enduring    men. 
"When  fell  thy  sons  other  than  in  the  battles  front? 
when  in  the  fiercest  danger  were  they  found  recreant  ? 
Aye,  well  may  Echo  answer  "  When  ? " 

The  thunder  of  thy  bowling  balls,  Old  Hudson,  we 
Kear  as  we  pass  the  gorges  of  the  Catskill.  Hyde 
Park,  thou  glancest  by  us — the  villas  of  the  Rensse- 
laers  and  Livingstons  flit  'mid  their  green  trees, — thy 
cottages,  oh  Kinderhook — the  Overslaugh — rush  by 
us,  and  now  we  are  at  Albany.  Albany,  Rochester, 
Utica,  by  smoaking  steam>car,  we  are  delivered  from 
you.  Vuburn,  we  breathe  among  thy  shady  walks — 
and  now,  for  a  moment,  Buffalo,  we  rest  with  thee. 
All  hail  to  thee,  thou  city  of  the  Bison  Bull !  Great 
caravansera  and  resting-place  of  coming  nations  !  By- 
zantium of  the  future — hail !  As  on  a  quay  shall  meet 
hereafter,  through  the  Lawrence  and  the  Oregon,  the 


1 


H 


m 


113 


HUDSON    BIVER. 


hardy  seamen  of  the  Atlantic  and  Pacific^  the  Otahei- 
tean  and  the  fair-haired  Swede ;  while  the  bronzed 
trapper,  the  savage  Blackfoot,  the  greasy  Esquimaux, 
and  half-civilized  voyageur*  shall  mingle  with  aston- 
ishment and  admiration  on  thy  busy  marts.  HaiH 
Lail !  to  thee,  thou  ity  of  the  desert  lord,  all  hail  \ 


i 


NIGHT  ATTACK  ON  FORT  ERIE. 


(August  14th,  1814.) 


Hostler  !  bring  up  the  horses,  we  will  cross  to  the 
Canadian  shore,  and  ride  leisurely  o'er  its  battle- 
grounds. Tighten  the  girths,  John.  Take  up  an- 
other hole.  So — never  mind  the  stirrup.  Jump — I'm 
in  my  saddle.  Are  you  ready  ?—-AZ?ons.  Well 
broken  is  that  grey  of  yours,  he  has  a  good  long 
trot — how  easy  it  makes  your  rise  in  the  saddle,  and 
how  graceful  is  the  gait.  But  here  we  are  at  the 
Ferry.  Now,  we  cross  thy  stream,  Niagara !  Now, 
we  stand  on  British  ground !  Generous  and  gallant 
blood  has  deeply  stained  its  soil!  Observe  these 
crumbling  works— the  old  stone  fort  facing  the  river— 
the  remains  of  ramparts  and  trenches — here  a  bastion 
— further  on,  a  redoubt — there  again  lines  and  earth- 
works, forming  a  continuous  circle  of  defence,  but  all 
now  fast  sinking  to  their  original  level.  These  are,  or 
rather  were,  the  fortress  and  defences  of  "  Fort  Erie." 
When  some  years  since  I  rode  over  the  ground  with 
our  kind  and  excellent  friend,  the  Major,  I  listened 
with  great  interest  to  his  narration  of  the  part  of  the 
8 


114 


NIGHT   ATTACK   ON     FORT   ERIE 


;  k 


■r 


campaign  acted  upon  this  spot  and  the  adjoining  coun- 

'  try.     I  will  repeat  it  to  you  as  we  riide  over  it.     Jump 

your  horse  upon  this  decaying  mound — it  was  a  bastion. 

Standing  on  this  bastion,  "  Here,"  said  the  Major* 
**  we  had  thrown  up  our  lip'^'',  making  the  defences  as 
strong  as  practicable.  The  British  had  also  erected 
formidable  works  about  half  a  mile  in  front,  (the  forest 
intervening,)  composed  of  a  large  stone  battery  on 
their  left,  and  two  strong  redoubts,  from  which  they 
kept  up  an  incessant  discharge  of  shot  and  shells  for 
several  successive  days,  which  was  returned  by  us 
with  equal  vigour.  At  length  a  shell  from  their  batte- 
ries having  fallen  upon  it,  blew  up  one  of  our  small 
magazines,  but  with  trifling  injury  to  the  rest  of  the  de- 
fences. They  greatly  miscalculated  the  damage,  and 
were  elated  with  their  success,  and  General  Gaines 
received  secret  information  that  the>  intended  to 
carry  the  works  by  storm  on  the  following  night. 
That  night,  said  the  Major,  I  shall  not  soon  forget. 
It  set  in  intensely  dark  and  cloudy,  extremely  fa- 
vourable to  the  design  of  the  enemy.  Every  thing 
was  put  in  the  fullest  state  of  preparation  to  receive 
them.  The  men  enthusiastically  awaiting  the  attack, 
were  ordered  to  lie  on  their  arms.  Extended  along 
the  lines,  and  manning  the  fort  and  bastion,  our  little 
army,  in  perfect  silence,  awaited  their  coming. 

The  forest  had  been  cleared  about  three  hundred 
yards  in  front  of  our  works — beyond  that  were,  as  you 


mmiimmmmmm 


NIOHT   ATTACK  ON   FORT   ERIE. 


115 


see,  the  woods.     As  the  night  wore  on,  we  listened 
with  earnestness  to  every  sound.     A  little  after  mid- 
night, we  heard  on  the  dry  leaves  the  stealthy  sound 
of  footsteps — pat — patter — patter.     We  listened — they 
came  nearer.     A  short,  sharp  challenge  :  *♦  Who  goes 
there  ? ''  issued  from  that  farther  redoubt.     The  foot- 
steps ceased,  as  if  irresolute  to  advance  or  recede,  and 
all  was  still.     Another  quick  challenge — a  rattle  of  the 
musket,  as  it  fell  into  the  hollow  of  the  hand, — fol- 
lowed the  reply : — "  Picquet  guard,  forced  in  by  the 
enemy's  advance" — "Back,  guard!    back  to    your 
posts  instantly,  or  we  will  fire  upon  you,"  rung  the 
stern  voice  of  our  commanding  officer.     The  footsteps 
of  the  stragglers  slowly  receded,  and  entire  stillness 
again  obtained.     It  was  as  profound  as  the  darkness, 
not  even  the  hum  of  an  insect  rose  upon  the  ear.     We 
laid  our  heads  upon  the  ramparts,  and  listened  with  all 
our  faculties.     We  listened.     Perhaps  half  an  hour 
elapsed,  when  we  imagined  we  heard  the  dead,  heavy 
sound  of  a  large  body  of  men — tramp — tramp — tramp 
— advancing  through  the   pitchy  darkness.      A  few 
moments  passed — a  brisk  scattering  fire,  and  the  pic- 
quets  came  in  in  beautiful  order,  under  the  brave  sub- 
altern in  command.     The  measured  tread  of  disci- 
plined troops  became  apparent.      Every  sense    was 
stretched  to  the  utmost  in  expectancy — every  eye  en- 
deavoured to  fathom  the  darkness  in  front,  when,  from 
Towson's  battery,  that  towards  the  river,  glanced  a 


II 


116,       NIOHT  ATTACK   ON   FORT   ERIE. 

ToIIey  of  musquetry,  and  in  another  instant,  the  whole 
line  of  the  works,  bastion,  redoubt,  and  rampart, 
streamed  forth  one  living  sheet  of  flame.  Two  eigh- 
teens,  mounted  where  we  stand,  were  filled  to  the  muz- 
zle with  grape,  cannister,  and  bags  of  musket-bullets 
—imagine  their  havoc.  The  enemy  came  on  with 
loud  shouts  and  undaunted  bravery.  By  the  continued 
glare  of  our  discharges,  we  could  see  dense  dark  mas- 
ses of  men,  moving  in  columns  to  three  separate  points 
of  attack  ^  ^  on  our  works.  Our  artillery  and  musketry 
poured  on  them  as  they  advanced  a  continual  stream 
of  fire,  rolling  and  glancing  from  angles,  bastions,  and 
redoubts.  Repulsed — they  were  re-formed  by  their 
officers,  and  brought  again  to  the  charge,  to  be  again 
repulsed.  At  such  times,  hours  fly  like  minutes.  A 
life  appears  concentrated  to  a  moment.  We  had  been 
engaged  perhaps  an  hour — perhaps  three,  when  I  heard 
in  that  bastion  of  the  Fort,  a  hundred  feet  from  me, 
above  the  uproar,  a  quick,  furious  struggle,  as  if  of  men 
engaged  in  fierce  death-fight ;  a  clashing  of  bayonets, 
and  sharp  pistol  shots,  mixed  with  heavy  blows,  and 
short  quick  breathing,  such  as  you  may  have  heard 
men  make  in  violent  exertion — in  cutting  wood  with 
axes,  or  other  severe  manual  labour.  The  conflict, 
though  fierce,  was  short — the  assailants  were  repelled. 
Those  that  gained  a  footing  were  bayonetted,  or 
thrown  back  over  the  pai^ipet.  In  a  few  moments,  I 
heard  again  the  same  fierce  struggle,  and  again  fol- 


MM" 


iw)  miiwn  wii 


rv^'i^mt 


NIQHT    ATTACK  ON   FORT   ERIE. 


117 


lowed  the  like  result  and  stillness — if  stillness  could 
be  said  to  exist  under  continual  roar  of  musketry  and 
artillery.  A  third  time  it  rose,  sudden  and  desperate ; 
it  ceased,  and  presently  a  clear  loud  voice  rose  high 
above  the  battle  from  the  bastion :  **  Step  firing  in  front 
there,  you  are  firing  on  your  friends."  An  instant  ces- 
sation followed.  We  were  deceived.  In  another 
moment,  the  voice  of  an  officer  with  startling  energy 
replied :  •*  Aye,  aye,  we'll  stop :  give  it  them,  men, 
give  it  them  ! " — and  the  firing,  renewed,  was  continued 
with  redoubled  fury.  The  head  of  the  centre  column, 
composed  of  eight  hundred  picked  men,  the  veterans  of 
Egypt,  led  by  Lieut.  Col.  Drummond  in  person,  after 
three  several  assaults,  had  gained  possession  of  the 
bastion,  and  by  that  ruse,  endeavoured  to  cause  a  ces- 
sation of  the  fire — a  result  that  might  have  been  fatal 
to  us,  had  not  the  deception  been  so  soon  discerned. 
But  the  prize  was  of  little  value,  as  the  bastion  was 
commanded  by  the  interior  of  the  works,  and  the  men, 
under  cover  of  the  walls  of  an  adjoining  barrack, 
poured  into  the  gorge  that  led  from  it,  a  continued 
storm  of  musketry.  The  firing  continued  with  una- 
bated fury.  The  enemy,  repulsed  with  great  loss  in 
every  attack,  was  unsuccessful  on  every  point  save 
that  bastion,  the  possession  of  which  they  still  retained 
— when  I  heard  a  groaning  roll  and  shake  of  the  earth, 
and  instantly  the  bastion,  bodies  of  men,  timber,  guns, 
earth  and  stones,  were  blown  up  in  the  air  like  a  volcano* 


118 


NIGHT   ATTACK   ON   FORT    ERIE. 


malcing  every  thing  in  the  glare  as  clear  as  noonday. 
A  descending  timber  dashed  one  of  my  artillerymen  to 
pieces  within  a  foot  of  my  shoulder.  Profound  dark- 
ness and  silence  followed.  Naught  but  the  groans  of 
the  wounded  and  dying  were  heard.  As  if  by  mutual 
consent,  the  fighting  ceased,  and  the  enemy  withdrew, 
repulsed  on  every  side,  save  from  the  parapet  which 
they  purchased  for  their  grave.  A  large  quantity  of 
fixed  ammunition  had  been  placed  in  the  lower  part, 
and  a  stray  wad  falling  upon  it,  had  blown  them  all  up 
together.  My  duty  required  that  I  should  immediately 
repair  the  bastion,  and  most  horrible  was  the  sight — 
bodies  burnt  and  mutilated — some  of  them  still  pulsat- 
ing with  life,  among  them  Lieut.  Colonel  Drummond, 
the  leader  of  the  attack.  There  he  lay  in  the  morning 
light,  stark  and  stiff,  extended  on  the  rampart,  a  ball 
having  passed  through  his  breast.  History  mourns, 
that  his  courage  assumed  the  character  of  ferocity. 
His  war-cry  of  "  No  quarter  to  the  damned  Yankees," 
his  own  death-warrant,  was  long  remembered  against 
his  countrymen.  The  enemy  did  not  resume  the  at- 
tack, but  retiqng  to  their  entrenched  camp,  strength- 
ened their  works,  and  prepared  to  make  their  approach 
by  regular  advances. 

But  come,  spur  on,  we  have  far  to  ride — spur  on. 
Here  we  are  upon  their  works.  Here  is  the  stone 
water-battery,  and  there  the  two  strong  redoubts,  and 
back  of  them  the  remains  of  their  lines,  and  deep  en- 


mm. 


NIQHT   ATTACK   ON   FORT   ERIE. 


119 


trencbments.  These  are  the  works  which  were  car- 
ried in  the  memorable  and  desperate  sortie  of  Fort  Erie. 
The  right  by  Davis  and  Miller ;  the  left  by  Porter  and 
his  volunteers.  Here,  on  the  left,  quoth  the  Major,  fell 
my  gallant,  my  accomplished  friend,  Lieut.  Col.  Wood, 
at  the  head  of  his  column.  He  was  one  of  the  most 
brilliant  officers  in  the  service,  and  as  beautiful  as  a 
girl.  I  often  gazed  with  astonishment  at  the  despe- 
rate daring  that  characterised  him  in  action ;  here  he 
fell ;  he  was  bayonetted  to  death  on  the  ground,  on 
this  spot " — and  the  Major's  -voice  quivered,  and  he 
turned  his  face  from  me,  for  the  cruel  death  of  his  dear 
friend  was  too  much  for  his  manhood.  His  ashes  sleep 
amid  the  Highlands  of  the  Hudson,  beneath  their 
monument,  near  the  flag-staff  at  West-Point.  Peace 
to  his  gallant  spirit !  The  stars  of  his  country  can 
wave  over  no  braver  of  her  sons. 


BATTLE  OF  LUNDY'S  LANE. 


We    cross   thy  tranquil    plains,   Oh!    Chippewa. 

Scott — Ripley — Towson — Hindman — ^brave  soldiers ; 

long  will  this  battle. ground  your  names  remember. 

And  thou  too,  Riall !  brave  Englishman,  foeman  wert 

thou   worthy  of   warriors'  steel.      But   far  different 

music    has    resounded    through    these    continuous 

woods  than  the  wild  bird's  carol,  the  hum  of  insect8« 

and  the  waving  of  the  breeze  that  now  so  gently  greets 

our  ear.    Ay !  yonder  it  is — ^yonder  is  the  white  house* 

There,  said  the  Major,  as  G'eneral  Scott,  making  a 

forward  movement  with  his  brigade  in  the  afternoon  of 

the  25th  of  July,  1814,  came  in  view  of  it,  we  saw  the 

court-yard  filled  with  British  officers,  their  horses  held 

by  orderlies  and  servants  in  attendance.     As  soon  as 

we  became  visible  to  them,  their  bugles  sounded  to 

saddle,  and  in  a  few  moments  they  were  mounted  and 

soon   disappeared  through  the  woods  at  full  gallopf 

twenty  bugles  ringing  the  alarm  from  difTerent  parts  of 

the  forest.     All  vanished  as  if  swallowed  by  the  earth, 

save  an  elegarit  veteran  officer,  who  reined  up  just  out 

of  musket   shot,  and  took  a  leisurely  survey  of  our 

numbers.     Having  apparently  satisfied  himself  of  our 

force,  he  raised  the  plumed  hat  from  his  head,  and 


WwwiB 


^^^^^^^^^^^^ 


.m.jii..iin||!jiipi.y| 


BATTLE    OF    LUNDy's    LANS. 


121 


bowing  gracefully  to  our  cortege,  put  spurs  to  his 
horse  and  disappeared  with  the  rest.  From  the  occu- 
pant of  the  house  we  gathered  that  we  were  about  a 
mile  distant  from  a  strong  body  of  the  enemy,  posted 
in  the  rising  ground  just  beyond  the  woods  in  our  front. 
General  Scott,  turning  to  one  of  his  escort,  said,  "  Be 
kind  enough,  sir,  to  return  to  Major  General  Brown ; 
inform  him  that  I  have  fallen  in  with  the  enemy's  ad- 
vance, posted  in  force  at '  Lundy^s  Lanet  and  that  in 
one  half  hour,  I  shall  have  joined  battl«."  **  Order  up 
Ripley  with  the  second  brigade; — direct  Porter  to  get 
his  volunteers  immediately  under  arms,"  was  the  brief 
reply  of  Major  General  Brown  to  my  message,  and  the 
aids  were  instantly  in  their  saddles,  conveying  the 
orders.  As  I  galloped  back  through  the  woods,  con- 
tinued the  Major,  the  cannon  shot  screaming  by  me, 
tearing  the  trees  and  sending  the  rail  fences  in  the  air 
in  their  course,  warned  me  that  the  contest  had  begun. 
—But  we  are  on  the  battle-ground.  There,  said  the 
Major,  upon  the  verge  of  that  sloping  hill,  parallel 
with  the  road,  and  through  the  grave-yard  towards  the 
Niagara,  was  drawn  up  the  British  line  under  General 
Riall,  in  force  three  times  greater  than  our  brigade — his 
right  covered  with  a  powerful  battery  of  nine  pieces  of 
artillery,  two  of  them  brass  twenty-fours. 

The  Eleventh  and  Twenty-second  regiments  first  leav- 
ing the  wood,  deployed  upon  the  open  ground  with  the 
coolness  and  regularity  of  a  review, — and  were  soon  en- 


I  1 


~-< 


122 


BATTLE    OF    LUMDY's    LANE. 


gaged  furiously  in  action ;  the  fire  from  the  enemy's 
line  and  from  the  batteries,  which  completely  command- 
ed the  position,  opening  upon  them  with  tremendous 
effect.  Towson,  having  hurried  up  with  his  guns  on  the 
left,  in  vain  endeavoured  to  attain  sufficient  elevation 
to  return  the  fire  of  their  battery.  Tho  destruction  on 
our  side  was  very  great ; — the  two  regiments  fought 
with  consummate  bravery.  They  were  severely  cut 
up,  their,  ammunition  became  exhausted,  and  their  offi- 
cers nearly  all  of  them  having  been  killed  and  wound- 
ed, they  were  withdrawn  from  action, — the  few  officers 
remaining  unhurt  throwing  themselves  into  the  Nintht 
which  now  came  into  action,  led  by  the  gallant  Colonel 
Leavenworth. 

The  brunt  of  the  battle  now  came  upon  them,  and 
they  alone  sustained  it  for  some  time,  fighting  v/ith  un- 
flinching bravery,  until  their  numbers  were  reduced  to 
one-half  by  the  fire  of  the  enemy.  At  this  juncture, 
General  Scott  galloped  up  with  the  intention  of  charg- 
ing up  the  hill ;  but  finding  them  so  much  weakened, 
altered  his  intention,  entreating  them  to  hold  their 
ground  until  the  reinforcements,  which  were  hastening 
up,  should  come  to  their  assistance.  A  momentary 
cessation  of  the  action  ensued,  while  additional  forces 
hurried  up  to  the  aid  of  each  army — Ripley's  brigade, 
Hindman's  artillery,  and  Porter's  volunteers,  on  the  part 
of  the  Americans,  and  a  strong  reinforcement  under 
General  Drummond  on  that  of  the  British.   Hindman's 


BATTLE     OF     LUNDY's     LANE, 


123 


artillery  were  attached  to  that  of  Towsont  and  soon 
made  themselves  heard.  Porter's  brigade  displayed  on 
the  left,  while  Ripley  formed  on  the  skirts  of  the  wood 
to  the  right  of  Scott's  brigade.  The  engagement  was 
soon  renewed,  with  augmented  vigour ;  General  Drum- 
mond  taking  command  in  person,  with  his  fresh  troops 
in  the  front  line  of  the  enemy.  Colonel  Jesup,  who 
had  at  the  commencement  of  the  action  been  posted 
on  the  right,  succeeded,  after  a  gallant  contest,  in  turn- 
ing the  left  flank  of  the  enemy,  and  came  in  upon  his 
reserve,  "  burdened  with  prisoners,  making  himself 
risible  to  his  own  army,  amid  the  darkness,  in  a  blaze 
of  fire,"  completely  destroying  all  before  him.  The 
fight  raged  for  some  time  with  great  fury,  but  it  be- 
came apparent,  uselessly  to  the  Americans,  if  the 
enemy  retained  possession  of  the  battery,  manifestly 
the  key  of  the  position. 

I  was  standing  at  the  side  of  Colonel  Miller, 
said  the  Major,  when  General  Brown  rode  up  and 
inquired,  whether  he  could  storm  the  battery  with  his 
regiment,  while  General  Ripley  supported  him  with 
the  younger  regiment,  the  Twenty-third.  Miller,  amid 
the  uproar  and  confusion,  deliberately  surveyed  the 
position,  then  quietly  turning  with  infinite  coolness 
replied,  *'  Fll  try^  sir."  I  think  I  see  him  now, 
said  the  Major,  as  drawing  up  his  gigantic  figure  to 
its  full  height,  he  turned  to  his  regiment,  drilled 
to  the  precision  of  a  piece  of  mechanism,  I  hear 
his  deep  lion  tones — "  Twenty -first — attention  ! — form 


\ 


( 


124 


BATTLE    or     LUNDY     8     LANE. 


into  column.  You  will  advance  up  the  hill  to  the  storm 
of  the  battery— at  the  word  *  halt,*  you  will  deliver 
your  fire  at  the  port-lights  of  the  artillerymen,  and  im- 
mediately carry  the  guns  at  the  point  of  the  bayonet. 
— Support  arms — double  quick — march !"  Machinery 
could  not  have  moved  with  more  compactness  than  that 
gallant  regiment  followed  the  fearless  stride  of  its 
leader.  Supported  by  the  Twenty-third^  the  dark 
mass  moved  up  the  hill  like  one  body, — the  lurid  light 
glittering  and  flickering  on  their  bayonets,  as  the  com- 
bined fire  of  the  enemy's  artillery  and  infantry  opened 
murderously  upon  them.  They  flinched  not — they 
faltered  not— the  stern  deep  voices  of  the  ofiicers,  as  the 
deadly  cannon-shot  cut  yawning  chasms  through  them, 
alone  was  heard.  ♦•  Close  upv — steady,  men — steady." 
Within  a  hundred  yards  of  the  summit,  the  loud 
**  Halt"  was  followed  by  a  volley — sharp,  instantane- 
ous, as  a  clap  of  thunder.  Another  moment,  rushing 
under  the  white  smoke,  a  short  furious  struggle  with 
the  bayonet,  and  the  artillerymen  were  swept  like  chaff 
from  their  guns.  Another  fierce  struggle — the  enemy's 
line  was  forced  down  the  side  of  the  hill,  and  the  vic- 
tory was  ours — the  position  entirely  in  our  hands— 
their  own  pieces  turned  and  playing  upon  them  in 
their  retreat.  It  was  bought  at  cruel  price — most 
of  the  officers  being  either  killed  or  wounded.  The 
whole  tide  of  the  battle  now  turned  to  this  point. 
The  result  of  the  conflict  depended  entirely  upon  the 


BATTLIi    OF     I.UNDT'8    LANE. 


126 


ability  of  the  victorious  party  to  retain  it.  Major 
Hind  man  was  ordered  up,  and  posted  his  forces  at  the 
side  of  the  captured  cannon,  while  the  American  line 
correspondingly  advanced.  Stung  with  mortification, 
the  brave  General  Drummond  concentrated  his  forces, 
to  retake  by  a  desperate  charge  the  position.  The  in- 
terval amid  the  darkness  was  alone  filled  by  the  roar  of 
the  cataracts,  and  the  groans  of  the  wounded.  He  ad- 
vanced with  strong  reinforcements,  outflanking  each 
side  of  the  American  line.  We  were  only  able,  in  the 
murky  darkness,  to  ascertain  their  approach  by  their 
heavy  tread.  ♦'  They  halted  within  twenty  paces- 
poured  in  a  rapid  fire  and  prepared  for  the  rush."  Di- 
rected by  the  blaze,  our  men  returned  it  with  deadly 

• 

effect,  and  after  a  desperate  struggle,  the  dense  column 
recoiled.  Another  interval  of  darkness  and  silence, 
and  again  a  most  furious  and  desperate  charge  was 
made  by  the  British,  throwing  the  whole  weight  of  their 
attack  upon  the  American  centre.  The  gallant  Twenty' 
first,  which  composed  it,  receiving  them  with  undaunted 
firmness — while  the  fire  from  our  lines  was  "dread- 
fully effective,"  Hindman's  artillery  served  with  the 
most  perfect  coolness  and  effect.  Staggering,  they 
again  recoiled.  During  this  second  attack,  General 
Scott  in  person,  his  shattered  brigade  now  consolidated 
into  a  single  battalion,  made  two  determined  charges 
upon  the  right  and  left  flank  of  the  enemy,  and  in  these 
he  received  the  scars  which  his  countrymen  now  see 


I-  ■ 


126 


BATTLE  OF  LUNDy's  LANE. 


upon  his  manly  front.  Our  men  were  now  almostw  om 
down  with  fatigue,  dying  with  thirst,  for  which  they 
could  gain  no  relief.  The  British,  with  fresh  reinforce- 
ments— their  men  recruited  and  rested — after  the  in- 
terval of  another  hour,  made  their  third  and  final  effort 
to  regain  the  position.  They  advanced — delivered 
their  fire  as  before — and  although  it  was  returned  with 
the  same  deadly  effect,  they  steadily  pressed  forward. 
The  Twenty-Jirst  again  sustained  the  shock,  and  both 
lines  were  soon  engaged  in  a  "  conflict,  obstinate  and 
dreadful  beyond  description."  The  right  and  left  of  the 
American  line  fell  back  for  a  moment,  but  were  imme- 
diately rallied  by  their  officers.  *•  So  desperate  did 
the  battle  now  become,  that  many  battalions  on  both 
sides  were  forced  b£<.ck,"  the  men  engaged  in  indiscri- 
minate mel6e,  fought  hand  to  hand,  and  with  muskets 
clubbed ;  and  **  so  terrific  was  the  conflict  where  the 
cannon  were  stationed,  that  Major  Hindman  had  to 
engage  them  over  his  guns  and  gun-carriages,  and 
finally  to  spike  two  of  his  pieces,  under  the  apprehen- 
that  they  would  fall  into  the  hands  of  the  enemy." 
General  Ripley  at  length  made  a  most  desperate  and 
determined  charge  upon  both  of  the  enemy's  flanks— 
they  wavered — recoiled — gave  way — and  the  centre 
soon  following,  they  relinquished  the  fight  and  made  a 
final  retreat.  The  annals  of  warfare  on  this  continent 
have  never  shown  more  desperate  fighting.  Bayonets 
were  repeatedly  crossed)  and  after  the  action,  many  of 


mimamm0tm 


BATTLE     OP    LUNDYS     LANE. 


127 


it 


the  men  were  found  mutually  transfixed.     The  British 
force   engaged    was  about  five  thousand  men  ; — the 
American  thirty-five  hundred :  the  combined  loss  in 
killed  and  wounded,  seventeen  hundred  and  twenty- 
two,  ofldcers  and  men.     The  battle  commenced  at  half- 
past  four  o'clock  in  the  afternoon,  and  did  not  terminate 
till  midnight.      We  were  so  mingled,  said  the  Major, 
and  so  great  the  confusion  in  the  darkness,  that  as  I 
■was  sitting  with  a  group  of  ofiicers  in  the  earlier  part 
of  the  night,  on  horseback,  a  British  soldier  came  up  to 
us,  and  recovering  his  musket,  under  the  supposition  that 
he  was  .addressing  one  of  his  own  ofidcers,  said,  "  Colo- 
nel Gordon  will  be  much  obliged,  sir,  if  you  will  march 
up  the  three  hundred  men  in  the  road  to  his  assistance 
immediately,  as  he  is  very  hard  pressed."     I  called  him 
nearer,  and  pressing  his  musket  down  over  my  holsters, 
made  him  prisoner.     **  What  have  I  done,  sir,"  said 
the  astonished  man,  **  what  have  I  done  ?"  and  to  con- 
vince British  ofiOicers,  as  he  supposed,  of  his  loyalty, 
exclaimed,  "  Hurrah  for  the  King,  and  damn  the  Yan- 
kees."    As  he  was  marched  to  the  rear,  the  poor  fellow 
was  cut  down  by  a  grape  shot.    In  another  part  of  the 
field,  an  American  aid  pulled  up  suddenly  on  a  body 
of  men  under  full  march.     In  reply  to  his  demand, 
"  What  regiment  is  that  ?"  he  was  answered,  "  The 
Royal  Scots."      With  great  presence  of  mind,  he  re- 
plied, ♦*  Halt !  Royal  Scots',  till  further  orders,"  and 
then  turning  his  horse's  head,  galloped  from  their 


128 


BATTLE    07    LUNDT     8    L  A  IT  B  . 


I 


Y> 


dangerous  proximity.  It  was  a  horrid  conflict.  Hu- 
manity sighs  over  the  slaughter  of  the  brave  men  that 
fell  in  it. 

But  here  we  are,  at  the  grave-yard,  with  its  drooping 
willows  and  flowering  locusts.  Siill — still — and  quiet 
now.  No  armed  men  disturb  its  calmness  and  repose 
—no  ponderous  artillery  wheels  rudely  cut  its  conse- 
crated mounds — no  ruflian  jest — ^no  savage  execration 
— no  moan  of  anguish,  break  now  upon  its  hallowed 
silence.  The  long  grass  and  blossoming  heather 
waive  green  alike  over  the  graves  of  friend  and  ene- 
my. The  marble  tells  the  story  of  the  few — the 
many,  their  very  parents  know  not  their  resting  place. 
See  this  broken  wooden  slab — it  has  rotted  oft'  even 
with  the  ground,  and  lies  face  downwards,  the  earth- 
worm burrowing  under  it,  in  this  neglected  corner. 
Pull  the  grass  aside  ;  turn  it  over  with  your  foot.  What, 
the  nearly  eftaced  inscription  1 

**&atttti 

TO     THE    MEMORT     OF 

CAPT'N  —  BROWN, 

i 

O  F   T  H  E  ' 

21st  Regiment 

WHO    DIED    OF    WOUNDS    RECEIVED    IN   AC- 
TION,   WITH    THE    ENEMY,   ON    THE 
2  5th    OF    JULY,    18J4." 


i 


I) 


Fimwipwiii.ii"i',ip|n.jiiiK.inHiniii viiiiiwpimipniHinpiini  i mm^mili9g!ll90f!lf' 


BATTLE   OF   LTJNDY^S   LANE. 


129 


And  this  is  honour  !  This  is  fame !  Why,  brave 
man !  e*en  now,  I  read  the  tribute  to  thy  bravery  in 
the  bulletin  of  the  action.  Thou  had'st  comrades-— 
father,  mother,  sisters — to  mourn  thy  loss — and  now, 
the  stranger's  foot  carelessly  spurns  thy  frail  memen- 
to ;  nor  father,  mother,  sisters,  nor  human  hand  can 
point  to  the  spot  where  rest  thy  ashes.  Peace  to 
thy  manes!  brave  countrymen,  where'er  they  sleep. 

See  from  this  point  how  gently  and  gracefully  undu- 
lates the  battle-field  ;  the  woods  bowing  to  the  evening 
breeze,  as  the  soft  sunlight  pours  through  their  branch- 
es show  not  the  gashes  of  rude  cannon  shot — the 
plain,  loaded  and  bending  with  the  yellow  harvest, 
betrays  no  human  gore — ^yon  hill  scathed,  scorched 
and  blackened  with  cannon  flame,  the  very  resting  place 
of  the  deadly  battery,  shows  no  relic  of  the  fierce 
death  struggle,  as  covered  with  the  fragrant  clover  and 
wild  blue-bell,  the  bee  in  monotonous  hum  banquets 
o'er  it.  Nought  mars  the  serenity  of  nature  as  she 
smiles  upon  us.  Yet,  burnt  in  common  funeral  pyre, 
the  ashes  of  those  brave  men,  of  friend  and  foe^  there 
mingle  in  the  bosom  whence  they  issued.  The  fren- 
zied passion  passed,  the  furious  conflict  o'er,  they  have 
lain  down  in  quiet,  and  like  young  children,  sleep 
gently,  sweetly,  in  the  lap  of  that  common  mother 
who  shelters  with  like  protection  the  little  field  mouse 
from  its  gambols,  and  the  turbaned  Sultan  sinking 
amid  his  prostrate  millions.     Shades  of  my  gallant 


I 


180 


BATTLE   OF  LUNDTS  LANS 


countrymen  !  Shades  of  their  daring  foes — farewell. 
Ne'er  had  warriors  more  glorious  death-couch} — the 
eternal  Cataracts  roar  your  requiem. 

The  reader's  attention  is  requested  to  the  more  detailed  ac> 
count  of  this  action  in  the  Appendix.  The  inscription  on  the  tablet 
is  given  from  recollection,  and  it  is  possible  that  the  number  of  the 
Regiment  may  not  be  the  one  to  which  this  officer  belonged. 


\ 


■ -■wijy.i.y^yayy'tg'ii 


LAKE  GEORGE  AND  TICONDEROGA. 


The  Sun  of  Morning  hurls  himself  in  blazing  splen- 
dour o'er  thy  crystal  waters,  beautiful  Horicon  !  as  we 
float  upon  thy  placid  bosom,  not  as  of  yore,  in  feathery 
canoe,  but  in  gaily-coloured  bark,  drawn  by  Steam 
Spirit,  as  he  vainly  strives  to  break  his  fiery  prison. 
See,  how  he  puffs  and  pants  in  the  fierce  embrace  of 
the  glowing  element ;  in  furious  efforts  dragging  us 
onward  with  frantic  swiftness,  e'en  as  the  frightened 
steed,  the  vehicle  wildly  bounding  after  him.  As  the 
valve  of  safety  opens,  hear  the  shriek  of  mad  delight, 
with  which  exultingly  he  proclaims  his  freedom; — 
now,  the  iron  portal  closed,  how  like  Sampson  in  the 
Prison  Mill,  struggling,  giant-like,  he  again  applies 
him  to  his  toil.  Imprisoned  Spirit !  there  is  no  help 
for  thee.  Sweat  thou  must,  and  pant,  and  groan,  till, 
like  thy  fellow-labourer,  man,  released  from  fire  fetter, 
as  he  of  earth,  resolved  to  pure  ether,  thou  shalt  float 
again  free  and  delighted  in  the  clear  elements  above  ! 

Ho  !  brother  spirit,  tarry,  tarry — wait  thou  a  little 
*till  I  join  thee, — then,  how  gallantly  we'll  ride  ! 
Couched  on  summer  clouds,  lazily  we'll  float:  or, 
glancing  on  sun  rays,  shoot  swift  as  thought,  'mid  the 
bright  worlds  rolling  in  sublimity  above  us.     We'll 


lSi2 


LAKE    OEOROE     AND 


h 


bathe  in  the  Moon's  cold  splendour,  fan  in  the  sultry 
heat  of  crimson  Mars,  slide  upon  Saturn's  eternal 
snows,  or  joyously  gambolling  along  the  Milky  Way, 
we'll  chase  the  starry  Serpent  to  his  den.  Ho !  bro- 
ther spirit ; — but,  we  must  bide  our  time — madly  now 
in  wild  career,  thou  sweep'st  the  placid  lake  from  un- 
der us. 

But  whom  have  we  here  ?  A  sturdy  hunter  in  home- 
spun clad,  with  his  long  rifle— his  broad-chested 
hounds  in  quiet,  sleeping  at  his  feet ;  our  fellow-pas- 
senger, 'till  landed  on  some  mountain  side,  he  follows 
his  sylvan  war.  Clear  animal  health  and  vigour  shine 
from  each  lineament — with  what  open,  unsuspicious 
manhood— what  boundless  freedom  he  comports  him- 
self. Ha !  what  is  it,  hound  ?  What  is  it  ?  Why  dost 
shake  thy  pendant  ears  and  gaze  so  keenly  in  the  dis- 
tance— and  why  that  plaintive  howl  1  Ay,  ay,  hunter, 
thy  practised  eye  hath  caught  it.  On  yon  wooded 
island  to  the  windward — a  noble  buck  with  graceful 
form  and  branching  antlers.  He  sees  us  not,  but  the 
dog's  quick  senses  have  caught  his  scent  upon  the 
passing  wind.  Still,  boy,  still !  Pilot,  put  her  a  little 
more  under  the  island.  Hunter,  lend  me  thy  rifle- 
launch  the  canoe.  Come,  hunter — peace — peace^ 
keep  the  dogs  on  board  ;  paddle  for  yonder  jioint — now 
we  shoot  upon  the  pebbly  beach — now  make  her  fast 
to  this  dead  log.  We'll  steal  gently  through  the  woods 
and  come  upon  him  unawares.    Softly — ^press  those 


TICONDEROOA* 


133 


vines  away;  whist — avoid  the  rustling  of  the  branches; 
here,  creep  through  these  bushes — tread  lightly  on  the 
fallen  leaves — you'll  mire  upon  that  swampy  bottom. 
Hush — hush — tread  softly — that  crackling  branch! 
He  lifts  his  head — he  looks  uneasily  about  him— stand 
quiet.  Now  he  browses  again ;  get  a  little  nearer— 
we  are  within  distance.  I'll  try  him — click.  Back 
go  the  antlers — the  cocking  of  the  rifle  has  alarmed 
him— he's  oft'!  Here  goes,  hit  or  miss — crack — he 
jumps  ten  feet  in  the  air.  I've  missed  him— he  bounds 
onward — no — yes — by  Jove  !  he's  down-r-he's  up 
again — he  plunges  forward — ^he  falls  again — he  rises 
— falls — he  struggles  to  his  knees — he falls.  Hur- 
rah !  he's  ours — quick — quick — thy  couteau  de  chasse^ 
we'll  make  sure  of  him.  Stop — stop.  Poor  deer  ! 
and  /  have  murdered  thee,  for  my  sport  have  murdered 
thee — have  taken  from  thee  the  precious  boon  of  life 
— with  cruelty  have  broken  the  silver  chord,  which 
the  beggar's  blunt  knife  can  sever,  but  not  the  jew- 
elled fingers  of  the  monarch  again  rejoin.  There- 
there,  thou  liest,  true  to  the  Great  Master's  picture— 

**  The   big   round  tears  course  down  thy  innocent  nose  in 

piteous  chase, 
"  And  thy  smooth  leathern  sides  pant  almost  to  bursting." 

Thy  life  blood  flows  apace — e'en  now  thy  large  soft 
eye  dims  in  the  sleep  of  death — and  /  have  slain  thee. 
Thou  had'st  nought  other  enemy  than  the  gaunt  cow- 
ard wolf,  or  fanged  serpent ;  him,  with  light  leaping 


\ 


184 


LAKfi   GEOROB  AND 


bounds,  thou  laugh'st  to  scorn,  as  his  long  howl  struck 
on  thy  quick  ear ;  and  the  sullen  rattler,  with  many 
blows  of  thy  tiny  polished  hoof  thou  dash'st  to  pieces, 
ere  from  his  deadly  coil,  his  flattened  head,  with  glis- 
tening  tongue  and  protruded  fangs,  could  reach  thee. 
Oh !  I  shame  me  of  my  miscreant  fellowship.  E'en 
the  poisonous  serpent,  with  quick  vibrating  tail,  did 
give  thee  warning — I  stole  upon  thee  unawares. 
Hunter  !  take  again  thy  weapon ;  for  thee — 'tis  thy 
vocation — perhaps  'tis  well — the  game  is  thine.  I 
entreat  of  thee,  let  not  my  innocent  victim  again  re- 
proach my  eye-sight.  So  !  here  is  the  canoe — we 
again  embark — we  rock  against  the  steamer's  side — 
and  now  again  rush  onward  in  our  swift  career.  Islands 
glide  by  us  in  countless  numbers.  The  frightened 
trout  scales  in  quick  alarm  from  the  splashing  water- 
wheels,  while  echo,  mocking  their  watery  clamour, 
wakes  the  old  mountains  from  their  sleepy  stillness, 
who  again,  like  drowsy  giants,  relapse  into  repose  as 
we  leave  them  far  behind  us. 

Ticonderoga^  we  approach  thy  shore.  Ay — true  to 
appointment — here  are  the  horses.  Mount — on  we 
go,  over  hillock  and  valley,  through  brake,  throi^gh 
brier,  through  mud,  through  water,  through  swamp, 
through  mire  ;  we  gallop  over  the  broad  green  penin- 
sula— leap  the  entrenchments — ^thread  the  lines.  Here 
is  the  citadel — descend  the  moat;  the  wild  dank 
weeds  and  furze  overtop  our  heads.     Ay — here's  a 


ch 
up 


TI OONDEROOA. 


135 


chasm — a  breach  in  the  ancient  walls ;  spur  up — spur 
up ;  now  we  draw  rein  withi.i  ihe  very  centre  of  the 
blackened  ruins.  How  lovely  the  view,  from  the  soft 
undulating  promontory — the  lake  bathing  its  sides; 
Horicon's  mountains  overlooking  it  on  this — ^the  stal- 
wart yeomen  of  the  verdant  State,  free  as  the  winds, 
on  that !  Oh  !  Ticonderoga,  midst  these  uncultivated 
wilds — these  silent  mountains — various  and  eventful 
hath  been  thy  history. 

Ho !  Old  Time — how  calmly  strok'st  thou  thy  long 
grey  beard,  as  seated  on  the  broken  ruins,  thou  ponder- 
est  their  past !  Come  I  come,  old  father  I  ascend  this 
crumbling  battlement — lean  on  my  shoulder — I,  as  yet, 
am  strslightest — I  will  hold  thy  scythe.  Now  point  to 
me  the  drama  which  past  generations  have  acted  upon 
this  green  peninsula. 

What  do  I  see  ?  I  see  the  savage  life — the  light 
canoe  floating  on  the  blue  lake — painted  warriors  spear- 
ing the  salmon,  chasing  the  deer  upon  the  plain,  dragging 
the  surly  bear  in  triumph, — I  see  the  swift  paddle  chase 
— ^I  hear  the  laugh  of  children — the  voice  of  patient 
squaws — the  distant  yell  as  rounding  the  point,  the  re- 
turning braves  bemoan  the  dead  left  on  the  war-path,  and 
as  the  shades  of  evening  close,  the  sun  in  golden  radi- 
ance retiring  o'er  the  mountains,  I  see  them  congregate 
in  wigwams  in  the  cove. — The  blue  smoke  rises  gently 
o'er  the  tree  tops,  and  all  is  still — quiet  and  serenity 
obtain — the  whip-poor-will,  and  cricket,  amid  the 
drowsy  hum  of  insect  life,  keep  melancholy  cadence. 


I 


V     > 


136 


LAKE    OEOROEAND 


*'  Stranger  I  venture  not  near  them — the  peace  is 
treacherous.  No  civilized  challenge  shall  give  thee 
warning,  but  the  cruel  war-shriek  wildly  ring  o'er  the 
insensate  brain  as  the  light  tomahawk  trembles  in  thy 
cloven  skull.'* 

Wild  mist  rolls  onward — I  hear  sounds  of  distant 
music — the  mellow  horn — the  clashing  cymbals  break 
from  its  midst.  Ah !  it  rises.  A  gallant  army,  in  proud 
array,  with  flags  and  banners — bright  glittering  arms, 
and  ponderous  artillery.  With  alacrity  they  eflect 
their  landing.  They  fraternise  with  the  red-skinned 
warriors.  Their  military  lines  run  round  like  magic. 
I  feel,  e'en  where  we  stand,  huge  walls,  grim  towers 
rise,  and  bastions  springing  up  around  us — the  spotless 
drapeau  blanc,  high  o'er  our  heads,  floats  in  the  breeze 
— wild  chansoi  s  of  love,  of  war,  of  la  belle  France, 
mix  with  mirth  and  revelry. 

"Stranger,  'tis  the  quick  *  Qui  Vive^  that  doth 
arrest  thy  footstep." 

Ay — now.  Old  Time,  the  mystic  curtain  again  rolls 
upwards.  What  do  I  see  ? — Red-coated  soldiers  ad- 
vancing in  proud  battalia  through  the  forest  glades,  the 
sunbeams  dancing  on  their  bayonets.  I  hear  the  sound 
of  bugles — the  clamorous  roll  of  drums,  the  groaning 
jar  and  creak  of  heavy-wheeled  artillery,.  Spread  along 
the  lines,  covered  with  sharp  abattis  and  water  moat, 
I  see  the  impatient  Gaul,  with  savage  ally  in  ambush- 
ment,  await  their  coming — they  advance  with  despe- 


TICONDEROOA. 


187 


s 
e 
e 


rate  valour, — they  ford  the  ditch,  they  hew  the  sharpen- 
ed trees  with  axes.  In  vain — the  balls  like  hail,  from 
unseen  foes  murderously  destroy  them — their  leader 
falls— hark !  the  bugle  with  melancholy  wail  sounds 
their  retreat. 

Again,  Old  Time,  an  interval — again  red-coated 
soldiers!  agaiu  groaning  artillery!  Look  up! — the 
drapeau  blanc  has  vanished — the  meteor  flag  streams 
proudly  from  the  flag-staff. 

*'  Stranger,  'tis  the  Anglo-Saxon's  rough  challenge 
that  gruffly  breaks  upon  thy  ear.'* 

Long  peace  and  silence — Old  Father,  now  obtain — 
the  sentry  sleeps  upon  his  post — women  and  children 
play  upon  the  ramparts — but,  hark !  what  is  it  far  in 
the  distance  that  I  hear  !  the  sound  of  battle  I  the  fusi- 
lade  of  musketry — the  roar  of  cannon !  I  see  Bun- 
ker's Hill  from  light  barricade  sweep  down  her  thou- 
sands— I  see  hurrying  forward  the  hardy  husbandman 
with  hastily  caught  musket — the  robed  divine — the 
youth —  the  old  man — cheered  on  by  mothers — sisters 
— tender  wives, — to  strike  ^ 

••  For  their  altars  and  their  fires, 
God,  and  their  native  homes." 

I  see  new  Nation's  symbol — Stars  and  Stripes — and 
watch,  now  in  the  midnight  darkness  through  the  for- 
tress moat — how  advance  that  fearless  band  of  men — 
Lo !  in  silence  they  penetrate  the  fortress'  centre. 
Hark !    what  voice  rouses  the  astonished  officer,  as 


188   LAKE  OEOROE  AND  TICONDEROOA. 


Starting  from  his  slumbers^  he  meets,  close  at  his  throat, 
the  bayonet's  threatening  point.  "  Surrender !"  *»  To 
whom  ?"  "  The  Great  Jehovah,  and  the  Continental 
Congress !" 

Now  floats  the  spangled  banner  proudly  o'er  the 
citadel — patriotic  men  assemble — armies  make  tem- 
porary resting  place — invalid  soldiers  breathe  ^the 
health-restoring  air,  and  age  wears  on.  Ha ! — was 
that  a  meteor  Hashing  from  Defiance  Mountain  sum- 
mit?  And  there,  another? — Plunge  !  plunge  !  Cannon 
shot !  screaming,  yelling,  bounding  i'  tV  very  centre 
of  the  fortress. 

*»  *Tis  the  Englishman  with  his  artillery.*' 

Quick,  quick ! — St.  Clair,  withdraw  the  army — the 
position  is  no  longer  tenable.  Strike  not  that  flag ! — 
palsied  be  the  hand  that  so  degrades  the  flag  of  Free- 
dom— let  it  shake  defiance  to  the  last  I  Quick,  the 
magazine — the  train — Ha,  hah  !  iEtna,  Vesuvius 
like,  the  explosion. 

Hallo  !  Old  Time  !— Ho !  thou  of  the  scythe  !— 
What !  hast  gone  ?  Am  I ! — ay,  I  am  alone !  Nought 
but  the  blackened  ruins,  and  the  crumbling  ramparts, 
in  silence  surrounding  me. 


b 
al 


le 


MONTREAL. 


N- 


e 

8 

1- 
n 


Now,  in  steam  palace,  we  shoot  in  swift  career  o'er 
thy  tranquil  surface,  Lake  Champlain — thy  rolling 
mountains,  in  wavy  outline,  accompanying  us  in  our 
rapid  progress.  Vast  primeval  forests  sleep  in  still- 
ness along  thy  borders — their  sylvan  patriarchs,  reign- 
ing for  centuries,  untouched  by  woodman's  axe,  stretch 
proudly  their  far-reaching  branches,  'till  ancient  Time, 
pointing  with  extended  finger  the  wild  spirit  of  the 
winds  breathes  on  them  as  he  passes,  and  they  succumb 
with  sullen  uproar,  long  with  mock  semblance  re- 
taining form  and  length,  as  if  deriding  the  puny  ofT- 
spring  shooting  up  aruund  them  ;  bestowing  sore  fall, 
1  ween,  and  tumbW  on  adventurous  hunter,  as  stum- 
bling through  the  undergrowth  he  plunges  prostrate 
o'er  them. 

Forests  immense  cover  the  mountains,  the  gorges,  val- 
leys, reigning  in  stern  solitude  and  silence,  save  where 
the  fierce  fire-god,  serpent-like,  pursues  his  flaming 
journey.  There,  followed  by  wreathing  smoke  columns, 
forward  he  leaps,  with  fiery  tongue  licking  up  acres^ 
while  the  waterpools  hissing  in  mist,  join  in  his  escort* 
and  the  wild  game,  with  frantic  swiftness,  strive  to  es- 


J. 


.A^ 


I 


iJ 


140 


MONTREAL. 


C"" 


cape  the  hot  destruction  of  his  embraces.  With  steady, 
noiseless  progress,  the  white  villages  appear  and  dis- 
appear beside  us.  Rouse's  skeleton  Tower  looms 
largely  in  the  distance ; — now  'tis  passed. 

Thy  military  works,  and  crimson  flag,  Isle  Aux  Noix, 
—town  of  St.  Johns,  Richelieu,  La  Prairie, — we 
pass  ye  all;  and  advancing  in  soft  summer  atmos- 
phere, Chambly,  we  behold  thy  mountain  ramparts 
filling  the  far  distance.  St.  Lawrence,  majestic  river, 
stretched  like  sheet  of  polished  steel,  as  far  as  eye 
can  reach,  we  stand  upon  thy  level  shores.  Rapid —  * 
wide,  rushing  expanse  of  waters,  with  what  glorious 
brightness  |hou  look'st  upon  thy  verdant  shores,  cov- 
ered with  continuous  lines  of  snow-white  cottages,  and 
listenest  to  the  soft  music  of  the  religious  bells  of  the 
kind-hearted,  cheerful  habitans — as,  with  rude  painted 
cross  upon  their  door  posts,  they  scare  away  the  iiend, 
and  joyously  intercommune,  in  honest  simple  neigh- 
bourhood. La  Chine — we  speed  o'er  thy  surface,  with 
race-horse  swiftness,  and  now  Montreal^ — beautiful — 
most  beautiful, — couched  at  the  foot  of  emerald  moun- 
tain, liest  thou  upon  the  river's  margin,  thy  spires, 
roofs,  cupolas,  glittering  in  the  sun-beams  with  silver 
radiance,  and  thy  grand  cathedral  chimes  floating  on- 
wards till  lost  ill  dreamy  distance.  We  land  upon  thy 
granite  quay — measure  the  extended  esplanade — now 
climb  thy  narrow  streets  and  alleys.  Almost  we 
think  we  tread  one  of  thy  antique  cities,  ancient  France, 


M  0  NTR  E  AL. 


141 


—alleys  narrow,  dark  and  gloomy  courts,  grim  inhospi- 
table walls, — in  place  of  airy  casement,  gratings  and 
chained  iron  portals,  —military  barracks, — nunneries, — 
prisons, — fantastic  churches,  and  Notre  Dame's  cloud- 
piercing  towers,  in  huge  architectural  pile,  looming 
high  above  all.  Noisy,  chattering  habitans,  in  variega- 
ted waist-belts,  and  clattering  sabots,  rotund  dark- 
robed  priests,  lank  voyageurs — red-coated  soldiers,  and 
haughty  officers, — jostle  each  other  on  the  narrow 
trottoir — but,  mark !  the  sullen,  down-cast  Indian,  in 
blanket  robed,  with  gaudy  feathers  and  shining  orna- 
ments, his  patient  squaw,  straight  as  an  arrow,  her  pierc- 
ing-eyed papoose  clinging  to  her  shoulders,  silently 
following  him,  in  noiseless  moccasins,  moves  along  the 
kennel.  Verily,  poor  forest  child,  it  hath  been  writ- 
ten, and  Moslem  like,  thou  to  thy  destiny  must  bow — 
the  fire-water  and  the  Christian  will  it — fold  thee  closer 
in  thy  blanket  robe,  and — die.  See  yon  Indian  girl, 
standing  at  the  corner — with  what  classic  grace  the 
blue  fold  drapery  thrown  o'er  her  head,  descends 
her  shoulders,  as,  fawn-like,  she  stands,  avoiding  the 
rude  passer's  stare. 

Hardy  ponies,  in  light  calash,  dash  through  the 
narrow  streets,  of  passengers'  safety  regardless  j 
or,  tugging  at  great  trucks,  strive,  in  renewed  ex- 
ertion, to  vociferous  cries  and  exclamations  of  the 
volatile  Canadian.  How  well  these  Englishmen  sit 
their  horses.     See  that  gentleman— with  what  deli* 


I 


'  ■'*!!ypiiiMw;iff!piil'*iBB'Wt''''.'"^:"' 


Xx:^ 


#-.38^  ■• 


142 


MONTR  E AL. 


t/ 


cate  hand  he  reins  the  fiery  blood  that  treads  as  if 
on  feathers  beneath  him — and  how  picturesque  appear, 
amid  the  motley  throng,  these  red -coated  soldiers. 
Picturesque !  I  like  them  not — they  indicate  a  subju- 
gated people.     Come  !  here  stands  one  at  the  Champ 
de  Mars — how  martially  he  deports  himself — his  ex- 
actly poised  musket,  and  his  brazen  ornaments — how 
bright !    Inscribed  upon  his  gorget  are    the   actions 
which   have    signalized  his  regiment, — **  Badajos" — 
•*  Salamanca"—"  Vittoria"— "  Waterloo."      We   will 
address  hirft.     Soldier,  your  regiment  was  at  Salaman- 
ca,— "<S-i-r."     By  the  inscription  on  your  gorget,  your 
regiment  distinguished  itself  at  Salamanca — "  scaled 
the  imminent  deadly  breach"  at  *♦  Badajos" — stood  the 
Cuirassiers  wild  charge  amid  the  sulphurous  smoke  at 
Waterlob? — *' Don't  know,    indeed,  s-i-r."     And   is 
this  the  gallant  soldier !     Why,  for  years,  under  the 
menace  of  thy  sergeant,  thou  hast  scoured  that  gorget 
to  regulation  brightness — for  years  hast  marched  un- 
der thy  regimental  colours    emblazoned  with  those 
characters,  and   still  in  ignorance,  need'st  a  Cham- 
poillion  to  decipher  them.     'Tis  well.     Thou  art  the 
machine,  indeed,  that  they  require. — Verily,  thy  daily 
wage  of  sixpence,  and  thy  ration,  are  full  compensa- 
tion for  thy  service. 

Listen !    The    masses    hurrying   forward   in   the 
western    hemisphere — whcvher    to    happiness     and  . 
equality, — or  furious   license  and  bloody  anarchy— 


M  0  N  T  R  E  a'l  . 


143 


rorget 


with  joyous   shouts,  and  cries  of   freedom,  arouse 
the  echp.     Dost  hear  above  hoarse  cries  of  "  bread,'' 
and  mob  hurrah's— confused  sounds — ^low  muttering 
thunder — the  rend  and  clank  of  chains  that  o'er  the 
broad  Atlantic  roll  from  old  Europe  ?     'Tis  the  chariot 
wheels  of  Liberty,  as  charging  onwards  she  sweeps 
away  rust-covered  chains,  and  feudal  bands,  like  maze 
of  cobwebs,  from  her  path.     Hear  !  The  Nations  cry 
for  Constitutions — the  monarchs  hurrying  with  ghastly 
smiles  grant  their  request — the  people  would  take  them 
else.    Therefore   prepare  thee,  for  wilt  thou  or  thy 
rulers — the  *'>!e  surely  approaches.     Expand  thy  mind 
— cultivat'  :■  \   intelligence — study  thy  God — so  that 
when  the  hour  arrives,  in  the  first  wild  bounds  of  free- 
dom, as  the  desert  steed  thou  dash  not  thyself  to  pieces; 
nor,  like  the  frantic  Gaul,  bursting  from  impr^onment 
of  ages,  gore  thyself  with  thine  own  broken  fetters, 
rushing  on  to  deeds  of  blood  and  frenzy  that  cause  hu- 
manity to  shudder.   Ponder  it,  soldier !  fare  thee  well. 


i  , 


the 

and 

Ihy- 


''(''mmmimmwmimmm'immmm'f^ 


THE  NUN. 


Now  as  we  pass,  look  up !  How  minute  appears  tlie 
collossal  statue  of  Our  Lady  in  its  niche  on  the  vast 
front  of  the  cathedral.  And  ^he  nunneries — self-con- 
stituted prisons  for  those  whom  God  hath  born  to  free- 
dom— how  like  birds  of  evil  omen  they  do  congregate* 
Here  is  that  of  the  Grey  Order.  Ring  at  the  gateway 
— we  will  enter.  Here  we  pass  the  court-yard ;  how 
still,  how  gloomy,  and  how  prison-like !  This  is  their 
hospital.  Piteous  collection  !  The  blind,  the  halt,  the 
maimed,  the  hideously  deformed — consumption — palsy 
—the  wrecks  of  fevers  !  See  !  with  what  continued 
torture  that  wretched  being  writhes  in  her  fixed  posi- 
tion. Oh  !  this  is  the  small  spark  of  good  amid  the 
black  brands  of  evil.  These  orphan  children  are 
kindly  cared  for,  but  where  the  childlike  joy  and 
mirthful  freedom !  With  what  stealthy  step  the 
officials  move  about  their  Juties  along  the  silent  corri- 
dors  !  and, — aye  !  here  is  the  chapel,  with  its  gilded 
alvars,  its  ornaments,  its  embroideries,  its  bleeding 
hearts,  its  sacred  symbols.  See  with  what  gentleness 
the  "  Lady"  performs  the  servile  duties  of  the  sanctu 
ary !  with  what  humility  she  bends  before  the  altar* 
Oh  !  how  beautiful  that  cljeek  of  tint  of  Indian  shell ; 


1 


THE     NV N« 


145 


those  dark  romantic  eyes,  with  their  long  pensile  lash- 
es ;  that  nose  of  Grecian  outline  ;  the-  small  vermilion 
mouth ;  the  throat  and  neck  of  snow,  and  the  glossy 
raven  tresses  escaping  in  rich  luxuriance  from  the 
plaited  coif  as  they  fall  upon  her  sloping  shoulders. 
Mournful  seems  her  devotion — now  rising  she  stands 
before  the  Mater  Dolorosa ;  now  wistfully  gazes  down 
the  if  ark  long  corridor,  in  sorrowful  meditation.  Hush! 
be  silent.  I  will  steal  gently  near  her.  Lady  !  Turn 
not— 'tis  thy  kind  spirit  whispers — art  thou  content  ? 
Does  thy  young  active  soul  find  employ  congenial  in 
these  gloomy  mysteries  1  Doe's  thy  springing,  youth- 
ful heart,  sympathize  in  these  cold  formalities — this 
company  of  grim-visaged  saints  and  bearded  martyrs 
with  joy  enchain  thee  ?  Does  the  passionate  imagina- 
tion and  deep  feeling  flashing  in  those  dark  eyes^-the 
already  hectic  kindling  of  that  cheek,  look  with  plea- 
sure to  long  years — a  life  of  cold  monotonous  routine 
—of  nightly  \igils — fastings— of  painful  mortifications  ? 
Lady !  listen.  They  chain  thy  soul.  Break  thou 
away.  Quick  in  thy  youth,  fly  from  their-  fly.  One 
moment.  Speak  not.  See'st  thou  yon  cottage  peer- 
ing from  its  green  shades  and  gravelled  walks — its 
parterres  of  the  myrtle  and  the  lily,  its  diamond  lattice 
enwreathed  and  almost  hidden  in  the  embrace  of  sweet- 
smelling  honeysuckles  and  clustering  roses — and  its 
interior  with  its  simple  yet  delicate  refinements? 
See'st  thou  in  snowy  dishabille  the  lovely  woman  ? 
10 


] 


■i 


Mmmmffimmm 


mmmmmim 


146 


THE     NUN. 


\ 


»; 


with  what  heart^felt  glee  the  frolicking,  half-naked 
child,  with  chubby  arms,  almost  suffocates  in  its 
little  embrace  her  neck,  its  golden  ringlets  ming- 
ling like  streai'  of  light  'mid  her  dark  tresses, — 
with  what  ecst  ./  ohe  enfolds  him  in  her  embraces, 
with  maternal  lips  pressing  in  exquisite  delight  the 
plump  alabaster  shoulders  ?  Lady,  such  scenes,  not 
gloomy  walls,  invite  thee — ^nay  'tis  not  the  voice  of  the 
Tempter — 'tis  not,  as  they  will  tell  thee,  the  poisonous 
breath  of  the  many-coloured  serpent  stealing  o'er  thy 
senses.  Let  bear  Jed  men,  wrecked  on  their  own 
fierce  lawless  passions,  seek  these  dark  cells, 
these  painful  vigils,  these  unmeaning  mortifications. 
They  are  not  for  thee.  The  world  awaits  thy 
coming.  The  pawing  steed,  throwing  the  white 
froth  flakes  o'er  his  broad  chest,  impatiently  awaits 
thee.  Fly,  dear  lady,  fly — the  joyous,  carrol- 
ling  birds,  the  dew-spangled  meadows,  cry.  Come. 
The  green,  green  trees — ^the  bubbling  water-falls 
— ^the  soft  summer  breezes — the  rosy  tinted  East 
— ^the  gorgeous  drapery  of  the  West — cry  to  thee, 
Come.  The  voice  of  thy  lover,  frantic  at  thy  self- 
sacrifice — the  voice  of  him  who  in  the  fragrant 
oittnge  bower  encircled  thy  slender  waist,  whilst, 
with  heightened  colour  and  downcast  eyes,  thou  lis- 
ten'd  to  his  rapid  vows — the  voice  of  him,  who  with 
thy  glossy  raven  tresses  floating  on  his  shoulder,  and 


THE   NUN. 


147 


thy  warm,  sweet  breath,  miogling  with  his,  lavished 
soul,  existence,  all,  on  thee, — in  agony  cries.  Dearest, 
dearest,  come.  Nay,  nay,  'tis  but  for  thy  happiness, — 
I  leave  thee — exclaim  not — I  :tm  gone. 


CATARACTS    OF  NIAGARA. 


Now — on,  on — over  the  Chute,  and  down  the  Rapid 
—leaping  the  SauUs — through  the  rivers,  over  the 
islands — we  glide — we  glide — we  rush — we  fly.  Ho ! 
Ariel,  beautiful  spirit,  riding  on  thy  rainbow — shoot 
not  thy  silver  arrows  at  us  as  we  pass.  Tricksy  spirit 
—fare  thee  well — now  far  in  the  distance,  fare — thee — 
well !  Ha !  ha ! — Old  frolic  Puck — sweating,  panting, 
holding  thy  lubbard  sides — we  race — we  race — we 
pass  thee  too — in  vain  thou  strugglest  to  overtake  us. 
Farewell  —  farewell.  Go  pinch  the  housemaids — 
tickle  with  straws  the  snoring  herdsmen  —  tumble 
about  the  dusty  mows — sprinkle  sweet  hay  before  the 
ruminating  cattle — clutch  by  the  tail  the  cunning  fox, 
as  stealthily  he  crawls  within  the  hen-roost — and  anon 
rub  thy  hands  in  glee  o'er  the  embers*  on  the  capa- 
cious kitchen  hearth,  and  on  all-fours  cut  antics  with 
the  glowering  cat,  as  with  bowed  back  and  shining 
eyes  she  watches  thee  i*  th'  comer — peer  into  the 
kettles  and  into  the  jars — see  whether  the  barm  risfes 
—whether  the  yeast  doth  work ;  till  with  clash — 
clatter — the  metal  lid  slips  from  thy  fingers  on  the 
hearth-stone,  and  villain-like,  thou  shoot'st  up  the 
himney,  with  "  Ho  !  ho !  ho ! "  laughing  at  the  sleepy 


CATARA'CTS    OF    NIAGARA. 


149 


yeoman,  as  half  covered,  with  oaken  cudgel  grasped  t 
shivering,  he  peers  through  the  door-crack  the  cause 
o'  th'  uproar.      Farewell,  farewell,  mirthful  goblin- 
farewell,  farewell.     Ontario,  we  waft  across  thy  sur- 
face.    Queenstown,  thy  sanguinary  heights,  crowned 
with  brave  Briton's  monument,  we  pass,  and  now  the 
rising  mist-wveaihs  warn  us  of  thy  approach,  Niagara. 
Huzza !    huzza !    now  for  a  bath  under  the  roaring 
Cataract.     In  what  wild  chaos  of  waters  the  clam*- 
rous  ra{)ids,  as  if  from  the  horizon,  rush  down  upon  us 
— jumping,  leaping,  boiling,  in  fierce  confusion;    and 
this  frail  bridge,  how  it  groans  and  shakes  in  the  tor- 
rent's sweep!     A  slip  from  Muhomel's  sword  edge 
o'er  the  awful  Hades,  would  not  consign  us  to  more 
inevitable  destruction,  than  would  a  treacherous  plank 
or  rotten  beam  from  this  shaking  platform.     We  tread 
the  deep  green  woods  of  Goat  Island,  their  mossy  trunks 
covered  with  love-marks  of  Orlandos  and  Rosalinds  f 
and,  amid  the  roar,  descend  the  great  Ferry  stair-case 
— stop  a  moment  at  this  landing — step  out.     How  the 
solid  earth  shakes — jars  and  vibrates !     How  the  wild 
winds  rush  by  us,  as  the  huge  fluid  arch  stretches 
over  with  continuous  plunge — and  see  that  group  of 
wild-flowers — scarlet,  green,  and  purple — smiling  in 
beauty  beyond  the  reach  of  human  hand,  glistening  in 
moisture  midst  the  very  spray  in  the  rock  cleft.     But 
— ^haste — ^haste !     Here  is  the  boatman.     I'Oap  in—* 
leap  in !    Now  how,  in  our  little  cockle-shell  bark,  we 


150 


CATARACTS     OF     NIAGARA. 


whirl  and  sport  in  the  eddies,  o'er  the  fathomless  depths 
below,  like  wing-borne  insects  playing  over  the  abyss. 
We  land — ascend  the  heights — we  pass  the  sen- 
try. At  the  tiring  house.  We  robe  ourselves  for 
the  enterprise — tarpaulin  coats — hats  bound  with  old 
rope — trowsers  of  tow  cloth — shoes  of  cowhide — ^ha ! 
ha !  But  quick,  descend  the  long  spiral  stair>case. 
Now,  Guide — we  follow.  Beware  you  fall  not  on 
these  sharp,  slippery  rocks.  We  approach.  The 
Table  Rock  hangs  over  us.  In  grandeur  the  solid 
fluid  mass  falls  precipitate.  Prepare.  Turn  as  you 
enter — hold  down  your  head — repress  your  breath: 
are  you  ready  ?  Rush  !  We  are  beneath  the  yawn- 
ing chasm — soaked  in  an  instant.  Like  furious  rain- 
storm, and  wind,  and  tempest  all  combined,  this  wild» 
frightful  roar.  What  ?  Scream  louder,  louder.  Hold 
firm  by  the  guide — a  slip  from  this  narrow  ledge — 
and — whew — splash — dead  in  our  faces — almost  suf- 
focated. Turn  to  the  dripping  rock  wall,  and  catch 
your  breath  till  the  wind  rush  again  lifts  the  watery 
curtain.  Slimy  eels  glide  by — darkness  deep  above 
—dim  light  strives  to  reach  us  through  the  cataract 
sheets.  We  are  at  the  extreme  verge.  Guide — 
guide — ha  ? — what  indicates  that  motion  of  thy  lips^- 
closer — close  in  my  ear.  "  Termination  rock."  Turn 
'  — turn — splash — swash — drenched — suffocated — re- 
turn, return.  We  see  again  the  light.  Rush !  We 
stand  once  more  in  the  clear  open  sun-light.    Whew ! 


. 


CATARACTS  ^F     NIAGARA. 


151 


— puff— dripping— dripping — a  shower-bath  worthy  of 
old  Neptune.  How  delightfully  our  nerves  spring 
under  its  exhilarating  influence.  Take  care — again 
these  slippery  stones.  Beware  !  beware !  Here  we 
ascend  again  the  stair-case.  In  the  attiring-room. 
Towels — brushes — Christians  once  more. 

Come — come  !   Now  to  the  Table  Rock.     See  with 
what  treacherous  glitter  the  wide  Niagara  stretches  in 
perfect  smoothness  far  towards  Chippewa,  till,  descend- 
ing upon  us,  it  shoots  the  rapids  o'er  their  rocky  bed» 
like  things  of  life,   and  with  wild  rush  around  the 
island,  sweeps  resistless  o'er  the  awful  cataracts,  a 
roaring  hurricane  of  waters.     Give  me  your  hand — 
lean   forward — look  into  the   abyss — careful.      Evil 
spirits  take  us  at  advantage  at  such  times,  and  whisper 
us  to  leap  forward.     How  lashed  in  milky  whiteness 
the  huge  gulf  boils  and  foams  as  the  waters  plunge 
fractured,  disjointed,   tumbling  m    masses— and  the 
wild  birds,  how  fearlessly  they  skim  amid  the  white 
mist  rising  from  its  surface.     How  the  earth  shudders 
and  trembles  around  us.      You   are   already   dizzy. 
Come  back  from  the  edge.     How  awful — how  terribly 
sublime  !     How  tame — how  useless,  helpless  descrip- 
tion !     Would  that  I,  with  voice  of  inspiration,  could 
command  language  adequate  to  pourtray  the  grandeur 
of  the  scene  under  stern  Winter's  reign  !    Transcend- 
antly  beautiful  once  I  saw  it !     A  thaw  and  rain,  fol- 
lowed by  sudden  chill  and  cold,  had  clothed  all  the 


103 


CATARACTS. or    NIAGARA. 


forest-— everr  hedge  and  shrub,  with  transparent  coat 
of  ice.  Gnarled  oaks*  from  massive  trunk  to  their 
extremest  twigs,  became  huge  crystal  chandeliers. 
The  ever-green  pines  and  hemlocks,  with  long  lancing 
branches, — gre».t  emeralds  ;  lithe  willows,  sweeping, 
glassy  cascades ;  the  wild  vinos,  stiff  in  silvery  trellices 
between  them ;  the  undergrowth,  with  scarlet,  blue  and 
purple  berries,  candied  fruits.  The  pools  of  frozen 
water  at  their  feet,  dark  sheets  of  adamant ;  and  ever 
and  anon,  as  the  north  wind  passed  o'er  them,  the 
forest  was  Golconda,  Araby — one  Ind  of  radiant  gems, 
quivering  with  diamonds,  rubies,  sapphires,  in  glitter- 
ing splendour;  pearls,  emeralds,  hyacinths,  chryso* 
lites,  falling  in  showers,  as  fractured  from  their  crack- 
ling branches,  they  strevved  the  snowy  bed  stretched 
smooth  around  them.  That  wide,  smooth  riveri,  far 
above  the  Rapids,  ice-chained,  a  solid  snow-white  bed, 
gleaming  in  the  midday  sun.  Yon  tower,  misshapen 
giant  phantom,  ice  god,  in  frozen  shroud  and  winding- 
sheet,  firmly  fixed  'mid  the  swift  running  waters  :— 
huge  stalactite  icicles,  Winter's  hoary  beard,  hanging 
in  fantastic  curtains  from  each  rock  ledge — pinnacle-— 
projection ;  while  on  the  black  rapids,  the  vast  ice- 
fields breaking  in  masses,  piled  in  wild  confusion, 
grinding  and  swaying  on  their  treacherous  holds,  till 
gathering  momentum,  with  slide  and  plunge — sub- 
merged, they  swept  onward  'raid  the  wild  roar  of  the 
cataracts,  which,  with  stern,  resistless  power,  held 


CATARACTS    OF    NIAGARA. 


163 


their  terrific  course.  Those  huge  sheets,  those  watery 
arches,  those  green  beryl  masses,  plunging  in  resist- 
less fury,  unabated  vastnstp,  with  desperate  leaps  into 
the  foaming  abyss  below,  the  spray  falling  in  silver 
showers,  pierced  by  the  sun's  rays  dancing  around 
them  in  countless  rainbows ;  while  the  ice  avalanches^ 
breaking  from  their  grasps  on  the  surrounding  rocks 
and  precipices,  with  booming  plunge  and  uproar,  fell 
crashing, — buried  in  the  dark  whirlpools,  boiUng  in 
thd  fathomless  depths  below.  The  dark  river,  in  tor- 
rents of  copperas-hue,  whirling  in  eddies,  rushinfc  o*t>r 
its  deep  rocky  bed — in  savage  contrast  with  the  snow- 
covered  precipices  that  chained  it  to  its  course.  Deep, 
resistless  sweep  of  waters  !  black  as  despair — Sadoc 
.  here  were  to  thee  the  waters  of  Oblivion — here  tha* 
Lethe,  which,  till  other  worlds  received  thee,  should 
blot  existence  from  keenest  memory. 

The  voice  of  the  Unseen  addressed  the  afflicterl 
Patriarch  from  the  whirlwind's  midst — us  does  it  warn 
from  this  chained  whirlwind  of  the  waters.  Sublime, 
terrible,  indescribable,  as  is  this  scene  by  human 
tongue,  how  tamely  all  its  grandeur  sinks  ^p.neath  the 
catastrophe,  which  the  being  of  future  ago.  shall  sur- 
vey,— or  would,  if  with  eagle's  wings  he  could  soar 
high  in  the  clouds  above  it, — when  the  narrow  rock-belt 
which  Niagara  for  by-gone  centuries  has  been  slowly 
wearing,  severed,  the  light  tract  alluvial  crumbling — the 
whole  chain  of  inland  oceans — Huron,  Erie,  Michigan, 


164 


CATARACTS     OF    NIAGARA. 


with  awful  wildness  and  destruction,  sweep  in  second 
deluge  o'er  this  outlet — the  adamantine  rocks  sinking 
like  snow-wreaths  from  th^beds — all  principalities, 
kingdoms,  states — whatever  they  shall  be — between 
the  Atlantic  and  the  Alleghanies,  the  Labrador  and 
Mexico — swept  from  existence,  and  in  their  place  a 
heaving  surge — wild  waste  of  waters.  Fool !  revolve 
this  scene  terrific  in  thy  heart — ^ponder  it  well — then, 
if  thou  canst,  say,  indeed,  there  is  no  God  !  Thy  life, 
at  best  a  flickering  taper,  shall  soon  meet  extinguish- 
ment. Then  shall  there  be  an  eternity  to  convince 
thee. 


•^^i* 


MOUNT  HOLYOKE. 


Here  we  are  in  the  middle  of  the  month  of  August. 
The  "  world  "  have  long  since  fled  the  hot  walls  and 
blazing  pavements  of  old  Gotham,  and  even  the  very 
school-boys  are  let  loose  from  their  pale-faced  peda- 
gogues, to  frolic  like  young  colts  in  the  country. 
Come,  let  us  not  alone  remain  in  the  sweltering  city. 
Throw  a  few  thmgs  in  your  carpet-bag — ay,  that  is 
suflicient.  Make  me  the  guide.  We  will  leave  Sara- 
toga and  Rockaway  to  their  flirtations — another  field 
is  before  us.  Now,  Eastward  ho !  shall  lie  our  course. 
Distance  and  time  are  left,  behind  us — already  we 
are  ensconced  at  the  Mansion  House  in  this  most 
lovel)'  of  villages,  "  Northampton  the  beautiful." 

Well  does  it  deserve  the  name.  Come  one  moment 
to  the  comer  of  this  piazza.  Look  down  the  long 
avenues.  See  the  symmetrical  verdant  arches,  form- 
ed by  the  boughs  of  the  antique  elms,  bending  toward 
each  other  in  loving  fraternity ;  and  see  the  snow- 
white  houses  at  their  feet,  their  court-yards  smiling 
with  flowers ;  and  see  the  still  more  smiling  faces  that 
glance  behind  their  transparent  windows.  That  will 
do— you  have  stared  long  enough  at  the  demure  beauty 
behind  the  green  blinds.    Look  this  way,  and  witness 


■/ 


^^^|^llJ||^lllW^iw^y'^^ JI'Mji  ^\.fV i'"«','JtMy' J^'-n^ijtJi.lii'iL'.  ".-I'lyriwW!""' 


,j   .uwnw ■■  ■  ,       "   I    'I'  'I'Trt  .'     "~ 


156 


MOUNT    HOLYOKE. 


the  refined  taste  exhibited  in  the  graceful  cottages,  as 
they  stand  in  relief  against  the  dark  back-ground  of 
the  forest, — the  Grecian  column,  the  Gothic  arch,  the 
Italian  verandah,  cottage  and  temple,  all  spread  around 
you  like  the  city  of  your  dreams.  Truly  it  seems,  as 
it  mostly  is,  the  abode  of  retired  gentlemen — a  very 
Decameron  sort  of  a  place  in  this  working-day  world 
of  ours.  But,  allons !  Are  we  not  Americans  ?  Why 
should  we  rest?  To  breakfast — behold  a  regular 
Yankee  feast.  Snow-white  bread,  and  golden  butter, 
< — chickens  that  one  short  hour  since  dreamed  of  bins 

« 

of  corn  and  acres  of  oats  on  their  roosts  in  the  lofty 
barn, — steaks,  pies,  tea,  preserves,  the  well-browned 
cakes,  and  last,  not  least,  the  sparkling  amber  cider. 
Blessings  on  the  heart  of  the  nice  looking  damsel  at 
the  coffee  urn,  with  her  red  cheeks  and  neat  check 
apron.  But,  egad  !  my  dear  friend — prudence  !  hold 
up — we  have  to  ascend  the  mountain,  and  you  will  not 
find  the  feast  that  you  are  stowing  away  with  such 
Dalgetty  industry,  likely  to  improve  your  wind.  That 
last  hot  roll  lengthens  our  ascent  just  one  quarter  of  an 
hour.  There  !  the  horses  are  neighing,  and  impa- 
tiently champing  the  bit  at  the  door.  Are  you  ready  ? 
Come  then.  Look  out,  lest  that  fiery  devil  throw  you 
on  the  bosom  of  our  common  mother,  earth ! — your 
bones  would  find  her  a  step-dame — those  fiaming  nos- 
trils are  sworn  enemies  to  your  long  spur  gaffs.  But 
*  here  we  go  !    How  balmy  and  delightful  the  cool  air 


v** 


MOUNT    HOLTO  KE« 


157 


of  the  morning ! — ^the  verdant  grass  rises  gracefully — 
the  wild  flower  shakes  its  tiny  bells,  and  drinks  the 
dewy  diamond  glittering  on  its  lips,  as  it  waves  gently 
o'er  them.  The  rich  yellow  sun  mocks  the  trees,  as 
it  rolls  out  their  broad  shadows  on  the  velvet  turf  be- 
neath— while  from  knoll  and  waving  mullen  stalk,  the 
meadow-lark,  with  out-stretched  neck  and  piercing 
eye,  utters  his  sweet  notes  in  almost  delirious  rapture. 
We  clear  the  broad  meadows.  Our  very  horses,  with 
ears  erect,  gather  speed  with  every  bound,  and  seem 
ready  to  cry  ha !  ha !  We  are  the  fabled  centaurs  of 
old. 

See !  see ! — the  heavy  morning  mist,  rising  in  huge 
volumes,  reluctantly  bares  the  forest  on  the  mountain 
side, — it  curls  and  breaks  in  vast  masses, — it  slowly 
rolls  off  to  the  eastward.  Aye !  there  he  stands — there 
stands  old  Holyohe,  with  his  craggcd  coronal  of  rocks, 
a  gigantic  Titan,  bidding  defiance  to  time  and  tempest. 
Gallop — gallop !  we  are  within  two  hundred  feet  of  the 
summit.  This  precipice,  its  dark  sides  frowning  and 
grim,  the  velvet  moss,  and  little  clustres  of  scarlet  and 
yellow  flowers  peeping  from  its  crevices,  where  the 
ripling  brooklet  scatters  its  mimic  showers  over  them, 
■wreathed  fantastically  with  vines  and  gnarled  branches 
from  its  clefts, — we  must  climb  on  foot.  Rest  a  mo- 
ment. How  perfectly  still  the  dense  forest  extends 
arounds  us.  Nought  breaks  the  silence,  save  the 
querulous  cry  of  the  cat-bird,  as  it  hops  from  branch 


S'i^iiiigs^ss;;i^M4^>^>^ift»Jij^^  f^ ; 


158 


MOUNT    HOLYOKE. 


to  branch, — the  mimic  bark  of  the  squirrel,  or  the  dis- 
tant hollow  tap  of  the  woodpecker.     Now,  a  little 
more  climbing — ^take  care  of  those  loose  stones — a  few 
steps  additional  ascent — give  me  your  hand — spring! 
—here  we  are  on  the  rocky  platform  of  its  summit.     Is 
not  the  scene  magnificent  ?     We  st?  id  in  the  centre  of 
an  amphitheatre  two  hundred  miles  in  diameter.     See  ! 
at  the  base  of  the  mountain  curls,  like  a  huge  serpent, 
the    Connecticut,  its  sinuosities  cutting  the   smooth 
plains  with  all  sorts  of  grotesque  figures, — now  mak- 
ing a  circuit  around  a  peninsula  of  miles,  across  whose 
neck  a  child  might  throw  a  stone, — here  stretching 
straight  as  an  arrow  for  a  like  distance, — and  there 
again  returning  like  a  hare  upon  its  course.     See  the 
verdant  valleys  extending  around  us,  rich  with  the 
labour  of  good  old  New  England's  sons,  and  far  in  the 
distance — the  blue  smoky  distance — rising  in  majesty, 
God's  land-marks,  the  mountains.     See  the  beautiful 
plains,  the  prairies  beneath  us,  one  great  carpet  of 
cultivation, — ^the  fields  of  grain,  the  yellow  wheat,  the 
verdant  maize,  the  flocks,  the  herds,  the  meadow,  the 
woodland,  forming  beautiful  and  defined  figures  in  its 
texture,  while  the  villages  in  glistening  whiteness,  are 
scattered,  like  patches  of  snow,  in  every  part  of  the 
landscape  ;   and  hark !   in  that  indistinct  and  mellow 
music  we  hear  the  bell  slowly  tolling  from  yonder 
slender  spire.    Oh !  for  a  Ruysdael,  or  a  Rubens,  to 
4o  justice  to  the  picture. 


MOUNT    HOLYOKE. 


159 


Surely  God  did  not  intend  that  we  should  sweat  and 
pant  in  cities  when  he  places  such  scenes  before  us. 
How  like  the  fierce  giants  of  old  the  lofty  mountains 
encircle  it,  as  a  land  of  enchantment.  See !  see !  the 
clouds,  as  they  scud  along  in  the  heavens,  how  they 
throw  their  broad  shadows,  chasing  each  ether  on  the 
plains  below.  Imagine  them  squadrons,  charging  in 
desperate  and  bloody  battle.  But  no — widows  and 
orphans'  tears  follow  not  their  encounters — ^rather  the 
smiles  of  the  honest,  hard-handed  yeoman,  as  he  fore- 
sees his  wains  groaning  with  the  anticipated  harvests 
—his  swelling  stacks — ^his  crowded  granaries.  Here, 
for  the  present,  lei  us  recline  on  the  broad  and  moss- 
covered  rocks,  while  with  the  untutored  Indian,  its 
rightful  owner,  in  silent  admiration,  we  worship  tl# 
Great  Spirit,  whose  finger  moves  not,  save  in  beauty, 
in  harmony  and  majesty. 


■p— i»r<iwimii>iiiiwiiijiipnmmiwiifjW>B»r< 


HHIIUilllilli    .ll,,fp|l|l|W»INl|l|Wp|||l||IW«ilipWllt|» 

V   \ 


/ 


WHITE    MOUNTAINS. 


"Knock!  knock!  knock!"  W-cM.  "Thump! 
thump !  thump !"  Who's  there  ?  What  do  you  want? 
**  Passengers  for  the  White  Mountains,  Sir,  time  to  get 
up,-~-stage  ready.*'  Is  it  possible?  three  o'clock  al- 
ready'^ W-e-l-I,  I'll  get  up.  Call  the  goitlfman 
in  the  next  roon^  Well,  my  friend,  how  are  you,  af- 
ter your  trip  of  yesterday  to  Mount  Holyoke  ? — a  little 
stiff  in  the  knees  ana  ancles,  eh  ! — ^but  come,  the  stage 
is  at  the  door.  Waiter,  hold  the  light.  How  forlorn 
Ipok  the  heavy  muddy  vehicle,  and  half-waked  horses 
by  the  dim  light  of  the  stage  lamps.  That's  right,  my 
good  fellow  ;  throw  those  carpet-bags  in  the  inside. 
Shut  the  door.  All  ready.  Driver,  go  ahead! 
"Aye,  aye,  sir."  "  Hey  !— Tchk !  tchk  !— Crack  ! 
crack !  crack !  off  we  go.  The  steady  clatter  of  the 
horses'  hoofs,  the  jingling  of  the  harness,  the  occasion- 
al roll,  as  we  pass  over  the  boards  of  some  bridge,  and 
the  intejectional  whistle  of  the  driver  as  he  encourages 
them,  are  the  only  things  that  break  the  silence  for  the 
next  hour.  The  morning  light  begins  to  dawn.  Whom 
have  we  here  ?  Only  two  fellow  travellers.  An  hon- 
est, clean-looking  countryman,  snugly  fixed  in  one 
comer,  with  his  night-cap  pulled  over  his  eyes,  and  his 


mm 


WHITE    MO  UNTA  INS. 


161 


Thump ! 
m  want? 
me  to  get 
oiock  al- 
exitU  man 

you,  af- 
'^a  little 
the  stage 
w  forlorn 
ed  horses 
right,  ray 
tie  inside. 
>  ahead ! 
— Crack ! 
ter  of  the 
occasion- 
ridge,  and 
ncouiages 
ce  for  the 
n.  Whom 

An  hon- 
;d  in  one 
ss,  and  his 


mouth  wide  open,  as  if  admiring  the  melody  that  his  nose 
in  bugle  strain  is  enacting  just  above  it ;  and  opposite  to 
him  a  gross  fat  man,  of  rubicund  visage,  his  eyes  en- 
sconced in  goggles.  See !  he  nods — and  nods — and 
rvids,  and  now  his  head  bobs  forward  into  his  neigh- 
bour's lap.  How  foolishly  he  looks,  as  he  awakes  to 
consciousness.  It  is  broad  day-light.  Let  us  get  up 
with  the  driver  on  the  outside,  and  enjoy  our  cigars  and 
the  scenery  together. 

Here  we  go,  through  the  Connecticut  River  Valley, 
famous  for  its  scenery  and  its  legends — the  region  of 
bright  eyes  and  strong  arms — the  land  of  quiltings  and 
huskings — of  house-raisings  and  militia  trainings,  and 
the  home  of  savory  roast  pigs  and  stuffed  turkeys,  of 
fat  geese,  of  apple  sauce,  and  pumpkin  pies ;  the  Ultima 
Thule  to  the  Yankee's  imagination.  Now  we  are  at 
Deerfield.  "While  they  are  about  our  breakfast,  we  will 
run  across  the  road,  and  see  the  old  Williams  Mansion. 
A  hundred  years  since,  it  was  surrounded  by  In- 
dians, and  its  occupant,  the  clergyman,  with  his  family, 
carried  off  captives  to  Canada.  Here  is  the  very  hole 
cut  in  the  front  door  by  their  tomahawks,  and  here  the 
hacks  of  the  hatchets.  Through  this  hole  they  ran 
their  rifles,  and  fired  into  the  house,  killing  a  man  con- 
fined to  his  bed  by  sickness,  and  here  is  the  ball  lodg- 
ing to  this  day  in  the  side  of  the  wall — and  this  occurred 
one  hundred  years  ago!  Say  you,  that  the  people  that 
treasure  up  these  legends,  and  retain  these  memorials 
11 


■  ^ifi.mui>.vim!i(. 


u 


mmmmmmmmmititi^ 


h 


162 


WHITE   MOUNTAINS. 


untouched,  have  no  poetry  in  their  souls  t  But  there 
goes  the  stageman^s  horn!  Our  breakfast  finished* 
we  resume  our  places  at  the  side  of  the  good-natured 
driver*  and  on  we  roll.  Wo  pass  Brattleboro^  snugly 
ensconced  in  its  mountain  eyrie,  and  Hanover,  with  its 
broad  parade,  its  flourishing  colleges,  and  its  inhabi- 
tants that  never  die, — save  from  old  age. 

With  teams  of  six  and  eight  horses,  we  speed  over 
hill,  over  dale,  over  mountain,  over  valley,  ascending 
iind  descending  the  mountains  in  full  run ;  our  gallant 
Lorses  almost  with  human  instinct,  guiding  them- 
selves. Snorting  leaders,  swerve  not  aside  in  your 
career — linch-pins,  do  your  duty— traces  and  breech- 
ing, hold  on  toughly,  or  <*  happy  men  be  our  dole." 
Hah!  Wild  Amonoosac,  we  greet  thy  indeed  wild 
roar. — How  it  sweeps  the  fallen  timber  in  its  boiling 
eddies !  The  huge  logs  slide  dancing  onwards  with 
the  velocity  of  the  canoes  of  the  Indian ;  or  caught 
by  envious  projection,  or  uplifting  rock,  form  dams  and 
cascades,  till  the  increasing  and  cumbrous  inasses, 
gathering  momentum,  plunge  forward,  sweeping  all  h'j-^ 
fore  them, — and— but  whist !  Step  into  the  shade  of 
this  tree — ^look  into  the  dark  pool  beneath  those  gnarl- 
ed roots — how  beautifully  the  gold  and  purple  colours 
glitter — how  motionlessly  still  is  the  head—  how  slight 
and  tremulous  the  movement  cf  that  fin — the  wavy 
motion  of  the  tail.  A  two  pounder,  as  I  am  a  Chris- 
tian!   Whist!  whist!    See   that  dragon-fly,  gently 


H- 


^J^M/|M|^' 


WHITE    MOUNTAINS. 


163 


But  there 
St  fiiiishedt 
ood-natured 
9ro^  snugly 
irer,  with  its 
its  inhabi- 

speed  over 
ascending 
our  gallant 
ding  them- 
ide  in  your 
and  breech- 
)  our  dole." 
indeed  wild 
n  its  boiling 
nwards  with 
;  or  caught 
:m  dams  and 
ous  masses, 
eping  all  bo*> 
the  shade  of 
those  gnarl- 
irple  colours 
-  how  slight 
I — the  wavy 
am  a  Chris- 
u-fly>  gently 


mailing  o*er  the  surface — ^he  rests  a  moment  on  it.< 
V^atchl  the  head  slowly  turns — the  fins  move  deci^ 
dedly — ay — ^now — one  rapid  whirl  of  the  tail — an 
electric  leap  to  the  surface — Poor  fly,  thy  history  is 
written}  and  well  for  thee,  thou  greedy  trout,  that  no 
barbed  hook  suspends  thee  in  mid  air-^  struggling 
in  beauty,  though  in  death,  the  prize  of  exulting 
angler.  And  thou,  too,  art  there,  savage  Mount  Fran^ 
coniOf  with  thy  fantastic  and  human  outline!  Old 
Man  of  the  Mountain ! — with  what  grim  stoicism  thou 
lookest  down  upon  the  busy  miners,  as  with  picks  an4 
powder-blast  they  rive  the  sullen  mineral  from  thy  vi* 
tals.  Ay !  watch  thou  by  the  lurid  glare  the  sweat* 
ing,  half-naked  forgemen,  as  they  feed  with  thy  forests 
the  roaring  furnacos.  Watch  the  molten  ore,  slowly 
running  in  glittering  streams,  with  fiery  showers  oi 
scintillations  into  the  dark  earth- troughs  below  ;  while 
with  ceaseless  din,  the  ponderous  trip-hammers,  and 
clanking  machinery,  break  the  till  now  Sabbath  still* 
ness  of  thy  dwelling  place.  But  fare  thee  well,  thou 
imperturbable  old  man ;  fare  thee  well,  for  now,  we 
enter  the  dense  continuous  forest,  through  which  the 
busy  hand  of  man  has  with  unwearied  industry  cut  the 
avenue.  How  deliciously  the  aroma  of  the  gigantie 
pines,  mingles  with  the  pure  elastic  air  of  the  moun- 
tains. See  the  thick  undergrowth ;  the  dogwood  with 
its  snowy  blossoms — the  scarlet  sumac'^the  waving 
green  briar,  profuse  with  delicate  roses,—- the  crimson 


164 


WHITE     MOUNTAINS. 


raspberry,  loaded  with  its  fruit — the  yellow  sensitive 
plant — the  dancing  bluebell ;  and,  rising  through  the 
entangled  mass  of  verdure  and  beauty,  see  the  luxuri- 
ant wild  grape,  and  clinging  ivy,  joyously  climbing  the 
patriarchs  of  the  forest,  encircling  their  trunks,  and 
hanging  their  branches  in  graceful  festoons  and  umbra- 
geous bowers.— No  human  foot,  save  with  the  aid  of 
pioneer,  can  penetrate  its  matted  wildness — nought 
save  those  huge  patriarchs  rising  above  it  as  they  grow 
old  and  die,  and  fall  with  crashing  uproar,  as  into 
flowery  sepulchre,  intrude  upon  its  solitude.  Then, 
indeed,  in  heavy  booming  plunge  and  rush,  they  seem 
to  wildly  sing,  like  their  painted  children,  their  death 
song.  But  hark  ! — nhence  that  wild  and  dissonant 
shriek,  that  rings  upon  the  ear  ?  Ah — yonder,  erect 
and  motionless,  he  sits  upon  the  towering  oak  with 
haughty  eye  and  talons  of  iron,  screaming  his  call 
of  warning  to  his  partner,  slowly  circling  in  grace- 
ful curves  high,  high  in  the  blue  ether  above  him. 
Ay '  proud  bird,  our  nation's  emblem,  would  that 
thy  wild  scream  could  warn  from  us,  the  accursed 
spirit  of  Mammon,  which,  spreading  like  an  incubus, 
blights  and  destroys  with  its  mildew  the  virtues  and 
energies  of  her  sons. 

But  see,  where,  as  the  dense  forest  stretches  onward, 
the  casual  spark  dropped  by  the  hand  of  the  woodman, 
spreading  into  flame,  and  gathering  in  mighty  volumes 
of  fire,  has  swept  onwards  in  its  roaring,  crackling,  de- 


WHITE    MOUNTAINi. 


165 


stroying  progress,  leaving  nought  behind  it>  save  these 
grim  and  blackened  skeletons)  and  dead  plains  of  ashes. 
See  what  darkness  and  desolation,  and  apparent  anni- 
hilation, extend  around  you — but  yet,  silently  and  qui- 
etly, ere  long,  shall  the  germ  of  life  which  can  never 
die,  rise  from  these  ashes,  and  verdure  and  beauty 
reign  again,  as  was  their  wont.  Evsn  so  the  solitary 
mourner,  when  death  strikes  down  at  his  side  his  dear- 
est ones,  stands  helplessly  encircled  by  solitude  and 
desolation ;  but  soon  all-pervading  benevolence  causes 
the  green  germ  of  the  soul  to  rise  from  the  ashes,  and 
his  heart  again  expands  with  tenderness  and  sympathy. 

The  scene  of  desolation  is  passed !  and  now,  lest  the 
Lord  of  fire  should  reign  uncontrolled,  lo !  where  the 
spirit  of  the  whirlwind  has  swept  in  his  wild  tornado* 
Lo !  far  as  your  vision  can  command  the  circle — where, 
rushing  from  the  mountain  gorges  his  chariots  have 
whirled  along  in  their  fierce  career  of  destruction.  In 
mid  height,  the  lofty  trees  are  snapped  like  pipe- 
stems,  and  prone  like  the  field  of  grain  laid  by  the 
hand  of  the  reaper,  huge  trunks  with  the  moss  of 
centuries, — not  here  and  there  one  solitary, — ^but  for 
miles,  the  whole  vast  forest — prostrate,  never  again  to 
rise. 

But  speed !  speed !  the  mountain  passes  are  before 
us !  See — see  their  huge  walls  tower  in  chaotic  wild- 
ness  above  us.     Rocks  on  rocks — ledge  on  ledge— 


160 


WH  ITB     MOUNTAINS. 


,/ 


clifT  on  cliff— plunged  upon  each  other  in  frantic  dis- 
order.    See-« 

"See  the  giant  mouted  ora^,  ho !  ho! 
How  they  snort,  how  they  blow." 

See  the   huge  rock  ramparts  shooting  their  wild 
peaks  and  jagged  pinnacles  upwards,  piercing  the  very 
sky  above  us !    their  frowning  and  gashed  sides  trick- 
ling and  discoloured  with  the  corroding  minerals  in 
their  bowels ;  the  stunted  pines  and  evergreens  cling'* 
ing  like  dwarf  shrubs  in  their  crevices.     Take  heed! 
beware  you  fall  not.     See  the  huge  slides — they  havd 
swept  whole  torrents  of  rocks,  of  earth,  in  promiscuous 
destruction,  from  their  summits,  upon  the  valley  below 
—the  rivers  filled,  and  turned  from  their  courses,  in 
their  path, — the  very  forest  itself— the  loftiest  trees 
torn  up,  their  branches,  their  trunkst  their  upturned 
troots  ground  and  intermixed  with  rock  and  earth,  and 
splintered  timber,  <}wept  on  in  wild,  inextricable  con- 
fusion— and  here !    where  starting  from  their  slumbers, 
the  devoted  family  rushed  naked  and  horror«stricken  to 
tneet  it  in  mid  career.     Ay !  hold  on  by  the  sides  of  the 
steep  precipice — cling  to  the  ledge  as  the  wild  wind 
rushes  by  in  furious  gust — a  slip  were  your  passport  to 
eternity.    Look  down  !  How  awful  the  precipice,  thou'> 
Bands  offeet  below  you— how  the  blood  curdles  and  rush- 
es back  upon  the  heart,  as  you  imagine  the  fatal  plunge. 
Well  might  the  Puritans  of  old,  deem  theso  ghastly  de» 
serts  the  abode  and  haunts  of  the  evil  one. 


WHITE   MOUNTAINS. 


167 


But,  on--on — how  toilsome  the  ascent. — That  was.  a 
fearful  blast ;  hold  tightly  the  wild  roots  in  thy  grasp  as  it 
passes.  Long  since  have  we  passed  the  region  of  vege- 
tation :  the  dry  and  arid  moss  clinging  to  rock  and  stone* 
is  alone  around  us.  Ay  !  drink  of  that  spring — but 
beware  its  icy  coldness — nor  winter,  nor  summer,  alters 
its  temperature.  Behold,  in  the  clefts  and  gorges  be- 
low, the  never-melting  snow-wreaths.  The  flaming 
suns  of  summer  pass  over,  and  leave  them  undiminish- 
ed. Courage  !  we  climb,  we  climb.  The  witches  of 
the  Brocken  ne'er  had  such  wild  chaos  for  their  orgies. 
Courage,  my  friend  I  We  ascend — we  ascend — we 
reach  the  top— now  panting — breathless — exhausted^ 
we  throw  ourselves  upon  the  extreme  summit. 

Gather  your  faculties — press  hard  your  throbbing 
heart.  Catch  a  view  of  the  scene  of  grandeur  around  you» 
before  the  w^ld  clouds,  like  dense  volumes  of  steam, 
r^nclose  us  in  their  embrace,  shutting  it  from  our  vision ; 
—mountains — mountains — rolling  off  as  far  as  eye  can 
reach  in  untiring  vastness — a  huge  sea  of  mountains  held 
motionless  in  raid  career.  How  sublime  I  how  grand! 
what  awful  solitude !  what  chilling,  stern,  inexorable 
silence !  It  seems  as  if  an  expectant  world  were  await- 
ing in  palpitating  stillness  the  visible  advent  of  the 
Almighty — mountain  and  valley  in  expectant  awe. 
Oh  !  man — strutting  in  thy  little  sphere,  thinkest  thou 
that  adoration  is  confined  alone  to  thy  cushioned  seats 


168 


WHITE    MOUNTAINS. 


-r-thy  aisles  of  marble ;  that  for  devotion,  the  Almighty 
looks  to  nought  but  thee  ?  Why,  look  thou  there  !— 
beneath— around— millions—millions— millions  of  acres 
teeming  with  life,  yet  hushed  in  silence  to  thy  ear — 
each  grain  the  integer  and  composite  of  a  world — the 
minutest  portion,  a  study — a  wonder  in  itself — ^lie  be- 
fore thee  in  awful  adoration  of  their  Almighty  Foun- 
der. Well  did  the  Seers  of  old  go  into  the  mountains 
to  worship.  Oh !  my  brother-man — thou  that  dost  toil, 
and  groan,  and  labour,  in  continual  conflict  with  what 
appears  to  thee  unrelenting  fate — ^thou  to  whom  the 
brow-sweat  appears  to  bring  nought  but  the  bitter 
bread,  and  contumely,  and  shame ; — 'thou  on  whom 
the  Sysiphean  rock  of  misfortune  seems  remorselessly 
to  recoil — ascend  thou  hither.  Here,  on  this  moun- 
tain-peak, nor  King,  nor  Emperor  are  thy  superior. 
Here,  thou  art  a  man.  Stand  thou  here  ;  and  while 
with  thv  faculties  thou  canst  command,  in  instant  com- 
prehension,  the  scene  sublime  before  thee,  elevate 
thee  in  thy  self-respect,  and  calmly,  bravely  throw  thy- 
self into  the  all-sheltering  arms  of  Him,  who  watches 
with  like  benevolence  and  protection,  the  young  bird 
in  its  grassy  nest,  and  the  majestic  spheres,  chiming 
eternal  music  in  their  circling  courses ! 


hty 
;res 


BASS  FISHING  OFF  NEWPORT. 


Here  we  are  at  Newport— what  a  little  gem  of  an 
island — rising  like  emerald  on  sapphire,  from  the  sur- 
rounding ocean.  Neither  at  Potter's  nor  at  Whit- 
field's, will  we  take  our  abode.  We  will  walk  up  to 
the  Mall.  Ay,  here,  with  its  green  blinds  and  scru- 
pulously clean  piazza,  is  old  Mrs.  E 's,  and  they 

are  at  tea  already.    Come,  take  your  seat  at  table. 

With  what  serene  dignity  and  kindness  the  old 
lady,  in  her  nice  plaited  cap,  her  spotless  kerchief, 
and  russet  poplin  dress,  her  pin  ball,  with  its  silver 
chain,  hanging  at  her  waist — ^presides  at  the  board — >• 
crowded  with  every  imaginable  homely  delicacy— 
from  the  preserved  peach  and  crullers  made  by  her- 
self, to  the  green  candied  limes  brought  home  by  her 
grandson  from  his  last  West  India  voyage.  See  the 
antique  furniture,  with  its  elaborate  carving,  the  ma- 
hogany-framed looking-glasses ;  and,  in  the  comer,  on 
the  round  stand,  the  large  Bible,  carefully  covered  with 
baize,  surmounted  with  the  silver  spectacles.  No 
place  this  for  swearing,  duel-fighting,  be-whiskered 
heroes ;  but  just  the  thing  for  quiet,  sober  folk,  like 
you  and  me.  What  sayest  thou,  Scipio,  thou  ebon 
angel,  —  that  the  ebb    sets  at  five  i*  the  morning, 


170 


BASS     FISHING    OFF    NEWPORT. 


and  that  old  Davy  Swan,  the  fisherman,  will  be  ready 
for  us  at  the  Long  Wharf  at  that  hour  ?  Well,  get 
yourself  ready  and  go  along  with  us.  Call  us  in  sea- 
son. Ay,  that  will  do — the  roll  of  those  eyes — the 
display  of  that  ivory,  to  say  nothing  of  the  scratch  of 
that  head,  and  the  sudden  displacement  of  that  leg, 
Bufliciently  evince  thy  delight. 

So,  so,— here  we  are,  punctual  to  the  hour.  Ay, 
yonder  he  is  in  his  broad  strong  fishing-boat ;  yonder 
is  old  Davy  Swan,  as  he  was  twenty  years  ago ;  the 
same  tall,  gaunt  figure,  the  same  stoop  in  the  shoul- 
ders, bronzed  visage,  and  twinkling  grey  eyes ;  the 
same  wrinkles  at  the  side  of  his  mouth,  though  deeper ; 
the  same  long,  lank  hair,  but  now  the  sable  silvered  j 
the  same — the  same  that  he  was  in  the  days  of  my 
boyhood.  He  sees  us.  Now  he  stretches  up  to  the 
wharf.  Jump  in — jump  in.  Be  careful,  thou  son  of 
Ethiopia,  or  thy  basket  will  be  overboard — sad  disap- 
pointment to  our  sea- whet  appetites  some  few  brief 
hours  hence.  All  in.  We  slide  gently  from  the 
wharf.  The  light  air  in  the  inner  harbour  here  barely 
gives  us  headway.  Look  down  into  the  deep,  still 
water — clear  as  crystal ;  see  the  long  sea-weed  wave 
below  ;  see  the  lithe  eels,  coursing  and  whipping 
their  paths  through  its  entangled  beds ;  and  see  our 
boat,  with  its  green  and  yellow  sides — its  long  flaunt- 
ing pennant — its  symmetrical  white  sails,  suspended, 
Bs  if  in  mid-air,  on  its  transparent  surface. 


BASS    FISHING    OFP    NEWPORT.        171 


^g» 


How  still  and  tranquil  lies  the  quiet  town,  as  the 
sun  gilds  its  white  steeples ;  and  how  comfortable 
look  the  old  family  mansions  rising  from  the  green 
trees.  How  beautifully  the  yellow  sun  casts  his  sha- 
dows on  the  undulating  surface  o\  tha  island,  green 
and  verdant— the  flocks  of  sheep,  and  browsing  cattle, 
grouped  here  and  there  upon  its  smooth  pastures. 
And  see,  how  yonder  alike  he  gilds  the  land  of  the 
brave,  the  chivalrous,  the  unfortunate  Miantonimohr 
We  float  past  Fort  Wolcott.  Its  grass-grown  ram- 
parts, surmounted  with  dark  *-dnance,  and  its  fields 
cheerful  with  white- washed  cottages  and  magazines. 

Ay !  now  it  breezes  a  little — now  we  gather  head- 
way— and  now  we  pass  the  cutter.  See  her  long, 
-taper,  raking  masts,  her  taut  stays  and  shrouds  ;  and 
hear,  as  the  stripes  and  stars  are  run  up  to  her  gafl*,  the 
short  roll  of  the  drum,  the  "  beat  to  quarters."  Hah ! 
Davy,— old  fellow,  dost  remember  that  note  last  war  ? 
How  many  times,  at  midnight,  we've  sprang  from 
our  beds  as  that  short,  quick  "rub-a-dub"  w  ?  a- 
ed  us  of  the  approach  of  the  blockading  frigates,  as 
they  neared  the  town.  But,  no,  no, — forgive  me,  old 
tar, — I  recollect,  indeed,  thou  then  wast  captain  of  thy 
gun,  on  board  the  dashing  Essex,  Ay !  well  now  do  I 
remember,  brave  old  sailor,  thy  conduct  in  her  last  des- 
perate battle.  Eighteen  men  hadst  thou  killed  at  thy 
single  gun.  I  thi:)k  I  see  thee  now,  as  grimed  with 
powder,  spattered  with   blood,  thou  didst  advance^ 


172 


■BASS    FISHING    OFF    NEWPORT. 


through  fire  and  smoke,  and  approach  thy  saturnine 
commander  on  the  quarter-deck.  I  hear  thy  brief, 
business-like  request,  *'  A  fresh  crew  for  Number 
Three,  Second  Division.  All  my  men  are  killed ! " 
And  the  short,  stern  response,  "  Where  is  your  offi- 
cer?'' "  Deadj — swept  overboard  by  cannon  shot." 
And  well  can  I  see  the  momentary  play  of  anguish 
round  his  mouth,  as,  resuming  his  hurried  walk,  he 
glooTiixiy  replies,  "I  have  no  more  men — ^you  must 
fight  your  gun  yourself ! "  Ay — and  as  thy  proud 
ship  a  helpless  target  lay,  for  twice  superior  force,  I 
hear  poor  Ripley,  thy  brave  comrade,  severed  almost 
in  twain  by  cannon  shot,  crying,  with  short  farewell— 
"  Messmates,  I  am  no  longer  of  use  to  myself  or  coun- 
try," as  he  throws  himself,  his  life-blood  gushing,  over- 
board. 

But  now  the  wind  freshens-r-the  smooth  surface 
darkens — the  sails  belly  out  in  tension,  and  the  white 
ripples  gather  under  our  bows.  We  round  the  point : 
Fort  Adams,  we  pass  thy  massive  walls,  thy  grim 
**  forty-two's  "  glaring  like  wild  beasts,  chained,  ready 
to  leap  upon  us  from  their  casements.  Ay — now 
we  run  outside — now  it  freshens — ^now  it  breezes-- 
she  begins  to  dance  like  a  feather.  There  it  comes 
stronger !  see  the  white  caps  !  There  she  goes — 
scuppers  under—swash — swash — swash — we  jvmp 
from  v/ave  to  wave,  as  we  run  parallel  with  the  shore, 
our  pennant  streaming  proudly  behind  us.    Here  it 


BASS     FISHING     OFF     NEWPOR.T. 


173 


comes,  strong  uiid  steady — there  she  takes  it — gun- 
wale under — lufti  old  fellow  !  luft'  up,  Davy  !  or  youll 
give  us  all  wet  jackets.    Ay !  that  will  do — she's  in  the 
wind's  eye.     How  the  waves  tumble  in  upon  the  land 
• — see  the  Spouting  Rock — see  the  column  of  white 
foam  thrown  up,  air  repulsed,  the  waves  roll  out  again 
from  the  rocky  cavern.     We  near  the  Dumplings — 
and,  round  to  !  round  to !  here  are  vhe  lobster-pots — 
haul  in — ^tumble  them  in  the  bottom  of  the  boat — ay — 
there's  bait  enough.     Now  we  lay  our  course  across 
to  Beaver  Light — we  slide,  we  dash  along-^springing 
from   wave  to  wave — dash — dash — no  barnacles  on 
her  bottom  at  this  rate,  Davy.     Ay,  here  we  are — a 
quick  run — a  good  quick  run.     Anchor  her  just  out- 
side the  surf — ay,  that  will  do — give  her  a  good  swing 
— ^let  her  ride  free — she  rolls,  like  a  barrel  on  these 
long  waves.     Look  to  your  footing,  boys — steady — 
steady.     Now,  then,  for  it.     Davy,  you  and  Scip  will 
will  have  as  much  as  you  can  do  to  bai;  for  us — all 
ready.     Here  goes  then — a  good  long  throw — that's  it 
— my  sinker  is  just  inside  the  surf.     What ! — already  ! 
I've  got  him — pull  in,  pull  in — see,  my  line  vibrates 
like  a  fiddle-string ! — pull  away — ^here  he  is — Tautaug 
— ^three-pouiider.      Lie   you    there — ay,   slap   away, 
beauty,  you  have  done  for  ever  with  your  native  ele- 
ment.   There,  again — off  with  him.     Again — again — 
again.     This  is  fun  to  us,  but  death  to  you,  ye  disci- 
ples of  St.  Anthony !     Give  me  a  good  large  bait  this 


I. 


174       B>A8t    FIIHIHO    OFF    NIWPOKT. 


;.  I 


I;  r 


timef  Scipio-— that  will  do— now,  whit~whi»«whii-i« 
•— that'a  a  clean,  long  throw.  By  Jupiter  I  you  have 
got  a  bite  with  a  vengeance.  Careful-— give  him  mor« 
line-*let  it  run — ^play  him— ease*— ease  the  line  around 
the  thole*pin ;  he'll  take  all  the  skin  of  your  fingers 
else.  Pull  away  gently— there  he  runs.  Gareful«  Of 
you  lose  him — play  him  a  little— he  begins  to  tire— • 
Bteaciyf  cteady— draw  away— now  he  shoots  wildly  this 
way— )ook  out !  there  he  goes  under  the  boat ;  here  ho  is 
^min.  Steady— quick,  Davy,  the  net ;— 'IVe  got  it  ub» 
^^/  Iiim— now  then,  in  with  him.  Bassl  twent^r 
poun  J  ,  by  all  the  steel-yards  in  the  old  Brick  Market  I 
Ay,  there  they  have  got  hold  of  me  ;  a  pull  like  a  young 
shark ;  let  it  run — ^the  whole  line  is  put— ^uick,  quick 
— 4ake  a  turn  round  the  tho.  e*pin— snap  I  There,  Davy  t 
there  goes  your  best  line,  sinker,  hooks  and  all.  Give 
me  the  other  line.  Ah,  ha  ! — again — again — again. 
This  is  sport.  One— 4wo— three— ^nine  Bass,  and 
thirty  Tautaug.  So->the  tide  worf't  serve  here  any 
longer ;  we  will  stretch  across  to  Brenton's  Reef,  on 
the  other  side.  Up  anchor,  hoist  away  the  jib.  Here 
!we  go,  again  coursing  o'er  the  blue  water.  How  the 
wind  lulls.  Whew— whew— whew— blow  wind* 
blow !  Put  her  a  little  more  before  it ;  0\at  will  do. 
Hallo,  you,  Scipio  I  wake  up— wake  up.  Here  we 
are,  close  on  the  reef— 'give  her  plenty  of  cable.  Let 
her  just  swing  clear,  to  lay  our  sinkers  on  the  rocks* 
That  will  do.    How  the  surges  swell,  and  roar,  andt 


BASS    FX8HZN0    OFF    NSWPORT.       176 


recoiling,  rush  again  boiling  on  the  rocks.  So — sOf 
they  don't  bite  well  here  to-day.  The  tide  comes  in 
too  strong  flood ;  well,  we  can't  complain,  we  have 
had  good  sport  even  as  it  is.  Come,  Africa,  bear  a 
hand ;  let's  see  what  you  have  got  in  that  big  basket. 
Come,  turn  out,  turn  out.  Ham,  chicken,  smoked 
salmon,  bread  and  butter ;  and  in  that  black  bottle  ?->- 
&y»  good  old  brown  stout?  Pass  them  along — past 
them  along,  ana  wo  be  unto  thee,  old  fellow,  if  thy 
commissariat  falls  short. 


BRENTON^S    REEF. 


With  what  sullen  and  continuous  roar  the  ocean 
waves  heave  in  upon  this  inhospitable  reef.     See,  as 
they  recede,  hew  the   long  slimy  rock- weed  hangs 
dripping,  and  how  deeply  the  returning  surge  buries 
it  again.     Oh,  never  shall  I  forget  the  sceno  upon  this 
horrid  reef,  witnessed  in  my  boyhood.     A  dark  por- 
tentous day  in  autumn,  was  followed  in  the  evening 
by  a  terrific  storm.    Low,  muttering  thunder,  which 
had  been  growling  in  the  distant  horizon,  as  the  night 
set  in,  grew  louder.     The  perfect  stillness  which  had 
obtained,   as  if  in  preparation,  was  broken  by  long 
moaning  sighs ;  the  lightning  became  quick  and  in- 
cessant, and  ere  long,  the  tempest,  like  an  unchained 
demon,  came  bounding  in  from  Ocean.     The  light- 
ning intensely  vivid,  accompanied    by   crashing  and 
terrific  thunder,  illuminated  the  surrounding  coast  with 
glittering  splendour ;  the  islands,  the  rocks,  and  yon 
beacon  tower,  now  exposed  to  brightness,  surpassing 
noon-day,  and  now  plunged  into  blackest   darkness. 
The  ocean  appeared  a  sea  of  molten  fire.     Rain — hail 
— dashed  hissing  by,  and  mid  the  screaming  of  the 
blast,  and  the  torrents  rushing  from  the  skies,  the  huge 


BR  £  N  TONS     R  E  EF. 


177 


waves  plunged,  and  roared,  and  lashed  in  milky  white- 
ness, broke  mast  high  upon  these  horrid  rocks.  While 
the  fishermen  in  their  cottages  were  thanking  their 
stars  that  they  were  snug  and  safe  on  shore,  we  heard 
in  the  temporary  lulls  of  the  howling  storm,  signa 
guns  of  distress.  The  neighbouring  inhabitants,  my- 
self  among  the  number,  were  soon  upon  that  point, 
and  by  the  glittering  flashes  within  musket  shof  of  the 
shore,  discerned  a  Spanish  ship  on  the  very  ridge  of 
the  frightful  reef — the  stumps  of  her  masts  alone  re- 
maining— the  surf  running  and  breaking  in  a  continual 
deluge  over  her,  while  in  her  fore  shrouds  were  con- 
gregated the  unhappy  crew.  She  was  so  near  to  us, 
that  we  could  almost  see  the  expression  of  agony  in 
their  countenances,  as,  with  exter-^rd  hands  they 
piteously  shrieked  for  help.  Their  situation  was  hope- 
less. We  could  do  nothing  for  them.  No  whale-boat 
could  have  lived  for  a  moment,  the  surf  rolled  in  with 
such  resistless  violence.  We  could  only  listen  in 
silent  horror.  We  heard  the  very  grinding  of  her 
timbers,  as  shock  on  shock  hastened  her  dissolution ; 
and  amid  the  fury  of  the  storm,  and  their  frantic  cries 
for  aid,  never  shall  I  forget,  in  the  momentary  lulls, 
the  sickening  continuous  wail  of  a  young  boy  lashed 
in  the  mid-rigging, — his  supplicating  exclamation, "  Ai 
Jesus ! — Ai  Jesus  ! "  Often,  years  after,  in  my 
dreams,  did  I  hear  those  plaintive  cries,  and  see  that 
young  boy's  face  turned  imploringly  to  Heaven,  while 

12 


178 


BRENTONS      REEF. 


that  *•  Ai  Jesus ! — Ai  Jesi  ! "  rang  wildly  in  my  ears. 
But  a  short  time  could  human  fabric  sustain  the  cease- 
less plunge  of  the  foaming  elements.  By  the  light- 
ning flashes,  we  could  see  the  number  of  the  sufferers 
lessen,  as  relaxing  their  hold,  they  dropped  off  exhaust- 
ed one  by  one — swept  into  the  rocky  caverns  below  ; 
until,  a  longer  interval  of  darkness — a  more  intense 
flash  of  lightning — and  all  had  disappeared.  Nought 
was  left  but  the  white  foam  as  it  rushed  tumultuously 
boiling  and  coursing  over  the  long  reef  before  us.  It 
was  so  brief — so  hurried — the  appearance  of  our  fel- 
loW'Creatures  in  their  agony,  and  their  disappearance 
BO  sudden,  that  it  seemed  a  feverish  dream.  But  the 
dead,  mutilated  bodies — ceroons  of  indigo  and  tobacco 
— and  broken  planks,  swept  alor^  the  shore  on  the 
following  morning,  convinced  us  of  its  sad  reality. 

The  corso  of  tliC  yoiPig  boy,  ungashed  by  the  rag- 
ged rocks,  I  found,  and  caused  it  to  be  buried  apart 
from  the  rest  in  the  church-yard,  for  it  appeared,  as  if 
there  was  in  his  childish  helplessness,  a  claim  upon 
me  for  protection.  That  expression  of  agony  1  ne'er 
heard  since — save  once  :  and  that — ^but  Davy,  we 
have  had  all  the  sport  we  are  like  to  have  to-day — gpt 
up  the  anchor,  and  we  will  fan  along  up  to  the  harbour. 
So — let  her  jibe — now  put  her  before  it — ay — that  will 
do. — As  I  was  saying.  Shortly  after  the  close  c"  the  last 
war,  buoyant  with  youth  and  hope,  I  made,  wl  at  was 
then  not  so  common  as  now,  the  tour  of  Europe — ^lin- 


BRENT0N8     REEF* 


179 


gering  long  in  Old  Spain,  fascinated  with  the  romantic 
character  of  the  countrymen  of  Cervantes — of  the 
gallant  Moors— of  the  Alhambra  and  the  Cid.  It 
chanced  one  evening*  strolling  about  the  streets  of 
Madrid  in  pursuance  of  adventure,  that,  passing 
through  one  of  the  most  unfrequented  squares.  I  was 
attracted  by  lights  shining  through  the  lor  >thic 

windows    of  a    large   chapel  or  catheclr.) 
preached,  and  entering  with  some  curiosity  it 

entirely  silent.  No  living  soul  was  present  within  its 
walls.  The  lofty  chancel  and  altars  were  shrouded  in 
mourning.  By  the  wax  candles  on  the  altars,  I  could 
see  the  fretted  arches — the  shrines  and  monuments 
along  the  walls — and  the  family  banners  wreathed  in 
gloomy  festoons  above  them.  I  wandered  about,  alone 
and  uninterrupted.  Nought  moved,  save  the  old 
blood-stained  flags,  as  they  fitfully  waived  to  and  fro 
in  the  wind.  I  gazed  around  me  in  admiration  on  the 
rich  shrines  and  their  appropriate  pictures.  Here, 
with  her  off*erings  of  flowers,  the  wax  candles,  burn- 
ing bright  and  clear,  was  the  Madonna,  her  lovely 
conntenance  beaming  with  celestial  sweetness,  as  she 
looked  down  upon  the  infant  Saviour  nestling  in  her 
arms — the  Baptist  standing  at  her  knee,  pressing  the 
plump  little  foot  to  his  lips — and  there,  John  in  the 
island  of  Patmos — ^his  emaciated  limbs  staring  from 
their  scanty  covering  of  sackcloth — and  his  gaunt  fea- 
tures  glowing  with  inspiration,  as  from  among  the 


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180 


BREN  T  0  N     8     REEF. 


cloud  of  scattered  grey  hair,  and  venerable  beard,  with 
upturned  face,  he  received  from  the  flame-encircled 
trumpet  above  him,  the  Holy  Revelation. 

Here,  armed  cap-a-pied,  the  chivalrous  Knights  of 
the  Temple  consigned  their  slain  brother  to  his  rocky 
sepulchre,  as  with  grim,  stem,* averted  countenances 
they  watched  the  tierce  conflict  and  assault  of  the  dar- 
ing Infidel  upon  their  Holy  City — and  there,  the  cross 
of  Constantino  richly  emblazoned  on  its  altar,  was  the 
Crucifixion y  the  Saviour  extended  on  the  cross — ^the 
thieves  on  each  side  of  him — the  head  just  bowed^ 
and  the  awful  '^  It  if  finished! "   announced  to  the 
nations  in  frightful  phenomena.'   The  sun  turned  to 
blood,  throwing  a  lurid  and  unnatural  glare  on  the  as- 
sembled multitude — the  war-horses,  riderless,  rearing 
and  plunging  with  distended  nostrils — rolling  in  con- 
vulsions the  solid  mountain^ ; — the  affrighted  soldiery, 
horror.stricken,  wildly  lifting  their  hands  to  ward  off 
the  toppling  crag,  which,  torn  from  its  foundation  by 
the  earthquake;  was  in  another  instant  to  grind  them  to 
powder — while  the  Roman  centurion,  with  curling  lip, 
holding  tighter  in  his  grasp  the   crimson   flag,  the 
**  S.  P.  Q.  R"  shaking  fiercely  in  the  wild  wind, 
seemed  to  deride  the  coward  Jew,  even  in  that  dread 
moment,  with  his  abject  slavery — and  here  was  San  Se- 
bastian, his  eyes  streaming  with  martyr  tears — and  the 
tinkling  of  a  small  bell  struck  upon  my  ear : — ^boys  clad 


BREKTONS     REEF. 


181 


in  scarlet,  swung  their  censers  to  and  fro,  and  the  in- 
cense floated  high  above  them  to  the  vaulted  arches. 
A  train  of  monks,  in  purple  robes  embroidered  with 
"white  crosses,  appeared  in  procession,  slowly  advanc- 
ing on  the  tesselated  pavement,  bearing  on  tressels,  co- 
vered with  dark  palK  a  corse,  by  the  muffled  outline, 
of  manly  stature.  Two  female  figures ;  grave  servi- 
tors, with  deep  reverence  supporting  them,  followed 
close  the  dead.  The  deep  thunder  tones  of  the  huge 
organ,  swept  upward  as  they  entered,  wild,  grand,  and 
terrible,  as  if  touched  by  no  earthly  hand :  scarce  au- 
dible sounds  floating  from  the  smallest  pipes  would 
catch  the  ear — then  bursts,  like  the  roaring  whirlwind, 
pouring  in  the  whole  mass  of  trumpets,  rolling,  and 
rising,  and  falling, — the  most  exquisite  symphonies 
floating  in  the  intervals,  until  fainter,  fainter,  the  heart 
sickened  in  efforts  to  catch  its  tones.  Dead  silence 
followed  : — the  corse  was  deposited  in  the  chancel  : — 
the  dark  black  pall  was  slowly  withdrawn,  and  the 
noble  figure  of  a  cavalier  in  the  bloom  of  manhood, 
pallid  in  death,  lay  exposed  before  us.  Clad  in  sable 
velvet,  his  rapier  rested  on  his  extended  body,  the  jew- 
elled cross-hilt  reverently  enclosed  in  his  clasped 
hands,  as  they  met  upon  his  broad  chest,  while  the 
luxuriant  raven  hair,  parted  on  the  high  fore'head,  the 
dark  arched  eye -brow,  and  the  glossy  moustache  curl- 
ing on  the  lip,  added  deeper  pallor,  to  what  appeared 
deep',  deep  sleep.    The  servitors  withdrew,  and  the 


1S2 


BREN  ton's     reef. 


mother  and  the  daughter  advanced  to  the  last  sight  of 
him  that  was  so  generous,  so  kind,  so  beautiful — their 
all.  The  thick  veil,  thrown  hastily  aside,  discovered 
the  furrowed,  time-worn,  grief- worn  features  of  the  mo- 
ther, convulsively  writhe  and  work,  as»  sinking  at  its 
head,  her  lips  pressed  in  uncontrollable  agony  the  damp 
cold  white  forehead.  The  sister,  clad  in  robes  of 
purest  whiteness,  her  golden  ringlets  dishevelled  and 
floating  around  her,  and  in  their  rich  luxuriance,  almost 
hiding  her  graceful  form,  bent  o'er  him ;  and  as  her 
gaze  met  not  the  answering  smile  of  kindness  and  pro- 
tection, to  which  from  infancy  it  was  wont,  but  the 
stern,  calm,  sharpened  features,  in  their  icy  stillness ; 
then,  as  with  frantic  sobs,  her  exquisitely  feminine, 
almost  childish  countenance,  streaming  with  tears,  was 
lifted  upwards,  and  her  hands  wringing  with  anguish, 
— then  uttered  in  deep  convulsive  bitterness,  that  *'  At 
Jesus  ! ''  in  smothered  tones,  again  struck  upon  n^ 
startled  ear.  Long  silence  followed,  unbroken  save  b^ 
sobs,  as,  sunk  by  its  side,  they  embraced  the  still,  un- 
conscious ashes.  Slowly  the  deep  grave  voi  ^es  of  the 
monks  rose  in  solemn  tones,  and  as  their  mournful 
chant  sank  into  deep  bass,  at  intervals  v,  as  it  taken  up 
by  a  single  female  voice  in  the  choir,  which,  high 
above  the  organ  tones,  with  surpassing  sweetness,  as- 
cended higher,  higher,  until  every  nook  in  the  lofty 
arches  above,  appeared  filled  and  overflowing  with  the 
rich  melody:  then,  descending  lower — lower — lower—* 


brbnton's  re  ef. 


183 


the  imagination  wildly  sought  it  in  the  passing  wind. 
The  monks  drew  near  with  uplifted  and  extended 
hands,  muttering  in  low  tones  their  benediction  ;  then 
crossing  themselvesi  encircling  the  corse  on  bended 
knees,  with  eyes  lifted  up  to  heaven,  uttered,  in  loud 
voices — 

"Ora  pro  illo— mater  miserecordicB,'* 
♦*  Salvator  Hominum — Ora  pro  illo  "— — 

*'  Ora  pro  illo"  again  rose  like  a  startled  spirit  from 
the  choir,  in  that  single  female  voice,  rising  with  an 
intensity  that  made  the  old  walls  re-echo  the  petition— 
and  then,  descending  like  the  fluttering  of  a  wounded 
bird,  it  became  less — less — and  all  was  still. 

After  a  brief  interval,  leaning  in  apparent  stupor 
lipon  the  arms  of  the  affectionate  retainers,  the  ladies 
slowly  withdrawing,  passed  again  the  chancel's  en- 
trance} and  the  sacred  procession  raising  the  body  with 
melancholy  chant,  bore  it  to  the  lower  part  of  the 
chapel.  I  heard  the  clank  of  iron,  as  the  rusty  portal 
of  the  family  sepulchre  reluctant  turned  upon  its 
hinges ; — and  then  rested  from  its  human  journey,  that 
corse  forever.  I  made  inquiries,  but  could  learn  nought 
about  the  actors  in  the  scene,  other  than  that  they  were 
strangers, — a  noble  family  from  the  Havana ; — ^that  the 
father — invalid — ^had  died  in  crossing  the  sea — and  the 
usual  story  of  Spanish  love,  and  jealousy^  and  revenge, 
had  consigned  the  son  and  brother*  in  the  bloom  of  his 


184 


BR  B  N  TON     8     R  E  £F. 


days,  by  duel,  to  his  grave  ;  and  subsequently,  that  the 
mother  and  sister  had  closed  the  history  of  the  family* 
dying,  broken-hearted,  in  the  convent  to  which  they 
had  retired.  But,  here  we  are,  at  |the  wharf.  Our 
rapid  journey  approaches  now  its  termination.  A  few 
short  hours,  and  we  shall  again  be  merged  in  the  cease- 
less din  of  the  city ;  the  fair  and  tranquil  face  of  nature 
change  for  the  anxious  countenances  of  our  fellow, 
men ;  the  joyous  carol  of  the  birds,  the  soft  forest 
breeze,  and  the  sea-beach  ripple,  for  paved  streets  and 
our  daily  round  of  duty  and  of  labour.  We  have 
found  "  a  world  beyond  Verona's  walls."  Perhaps  at 
future  time  we  may  again  travel  it  together.  Till 
then,  thanking  you  for  your  <*  right  good  and  joUie  " 
company.     Farewell! 


OLD    TRINITY    STEEPLE. 


BROADWAY  NEAR  THE  BOWLING-GREEN. 

(Ground  covered  with  ice — Furious  storm  of  snow 
and  sleet.  Two  gentlemen  becloaked  and  bemuffled, 
hurrying  in  different  directions,  come  in  full  contact, 
and  mutually  recoiling  hasten  to  make  apology.) 

"My  dear  Sir — a  thousand  pardons."«— >*  No,  indeed 
Sir,  'twas  I — I  was  the  offending  party.*' — "  No,  I  as- 
sure you — I" — eh  ! — is  it? — ^it  is ! — my  old  friend  the 
reader. — Why,  my  dear  friend — ^you  came  upon  me  as 
if  you  had  been  discharged  from  a  Catapult — a  Paix- 
han  shot  was  nothing  to  you  ?  But  where  so  fast  in 
the  fury  of  the  storm — Not  to  Union  Square !  Hea- 
vens !  Man,  you  will  never  reach  there  living — ^Why » 
in  this  horrid  cold  the  spirits  of  Nova-Zembla  and 
Mont- Blanc  are  dancing  in  ecstacy  about  the  fountains 
in  the  Park,  and  the  very  cabs  are  frozen  on  their 
axles !  Never  think  of  it.  Come— -come  with  me  to 
my  rooms  hard  by  in  State-street,  and  on  the  word  of  a 
bachelor  and  a  gentleman,  I'll  promise  to  make  you 
comfortable.  Come,  take  my  arm — Whew !  how  thifj 
North-Wester  sweeps  around  the  Battery.  Here  we 
are — This  is  the  house — A  real  aristocratic  old  man- 
sion ;  is  it  not  ? — Enter,  my  dear  friend — Run  up  the 


/ 


186 


OLD     TRINITY     STEEPLE. 


Stairs — Holloa!  ho!  Scip! — Scipio— Africanus — An- 
gel of  Darkness — come  forth — come  forth — Ay !  here 
you  are.  And  you,  too,  shaggy  old  Neptune,  your  eyes 
sparkling  with  delight,  and  your  long  tongue  hanging 
out  over  your  white  teeth — down — ^you  old  rascal — 
down  sir — down.  Now,  is  not  this  snug  and  comfort- 
able— a  good  roaring  fire  of  hickory — ^none  of  your 
sullen  red-hot  anthracite  for  me.  How  the  cold  wind 
howls  through  the  leafless  trees  upon  the  Battery, — 
Draw  the  curtains — Scip ! — Come,  bear  a  hand,  take 
the  reader's  hat  and  coat.  Invest  him  with  the  wadded 
damask  dressing  gown  that  Tom  sent  home  from 
Cairo— and  the  Turkish  slippers — So — so — Now  bring 
me  mine ;  place  the  welLstufTed  easy  chairs  ;  roll  the 
round  table  up  between  us — ^bring  in  the  lights. 
Now,  reader,  at  your  elbow,  lo !  provision  for  your 
wants,  material  and  mental — genuine  old  Farquhar 
and  amber  Golden  Sherry-^the  Chateaux  I  got  years 
since  from  Lynch ;  and  just  opened  is  that  box  of'  gen- 
uine Regalias,  only  smell  I  **  Fabrica  de  Tabacos— 
Calle-a-Leon — En  la  Habana,  No.  14."  Is  it  not  Ara. 
bia's  perfume !  Ha !  give  me  your  smoking  Spaniard 
in  his  sombrero — e'er  any  a  half-naked  Bedouin  of 
them  all  ;7-or  if  indeed  you  do  prefer  it,  there  stands 
the  Chiboque  coiled  up  in  the  corner,  and  the  metaphy- 
sical German's  meer-schaum  on  the  shelf.  There 
are  biscuit  and  anchovies,  and  olives,  "  old  Cheshire," 
and  other  inviting  things  for  your  wants  physical,  and 


OLD    TRINITY     BTEEPLE. 


187 


for  your  mental,  lo !  uncut  and  damp  from  the  publish- 
ers with  the  regular  new  book  smell — the  North  Ame- 
rican— Old  Blackwood — the  Quarterly— the  Edinburgh 
Review — Diedrich  in  his  high  back  chair,  the  Sporting 
and  other  Maga's,  and  by  a  slight  curve  of  thy  verte- 
bree  cervical,  behold  shining  through  yon  glazed  doors 
-•-glowing  in  gold,  dross  to  the  gold  within  ;  the  great 
master  Bard  of  England — Cervantes — ^the  chojien  spi- 
rits of  Italia  and  Gaul — Irving — worthy  to  be  called 
Washington — Br)'^ant — sweet  poet — and  Halleck,  gen- 
uine son  of  the  voyagers  in  the  Mayflower — ^and  of 
literature  much  other  goodly  store. 

Now,  Scip  !  Lord  of  the  Gold  Coast — throw  more 
wood  upon  the  fire — Ay  !  that  will  do — ^my  good  old 
faithful  servant — ^that  will  do— now  take  that  pepper 
and  salt  head  of  thine  down  to  the  kitchen  hearth, 
there  to  retail  thy  legend  and  goblin  story,  or  ensconce 
thee  in  the  comer  at  thy  will — Ah  !  hah,  old  Neptune 
— snug  in  thy  place  upon  the  hearth  rug— thy  nose  lying 
between  thy  outstretched  paws  as  thou  lookest  intently 
in  the  fire — Bless  thine  honest  heart! — ^thinking,  I 
warrant  me,  of  the  beautiful  child  whom  thou  didst 
leap  the  Battery  bridge  to  save.  How  bravely  thou 
didst  bear  the  little  sufierer  up  on  the  fast  rushing  tide. 
The  grateful  father  would  have  bought  thee  for  thy 
weight  in  gold,  as  thou  didst  lie  panting  and  half  ex- 
hausted— ^but  look  net  so  wistfully  my  dog — a  sack  of 
diamonds  could  not  purchase  thee — no — never  do  we 


\^^ 


188 


OLD     TRINITY     8TEEPLB. 


part  till  death  steps  in  between  us — and,  by  my  faith, 
an'  thou  goest  first,  thou  shalt  have  Christian  burial. 

Now,  dear  reader,  as  thou  reclinest  comfortably 
in  that  big  arm  chair,  thy  feet  in  Ottoman  slippers  rest- 
ing on  the  fender,  the  blue  smoke  of  thy  cigar  wreath- 
ing and  curling  around  thy  nose,  as  it  ascends  in  placid 
clouds,  and  floats  in  misty  wreaths  above  thy  forehead— 
the  glass  of  Chateaux,  like  a  ruby  resting  upon  its  slen- 
der stem,  light,  quivering  at  thy  elbow,  and  that  open 
Blackwood  upon  thy  knee — dost  not — confess  it- 
dost  not  feel  more  kind  and  charitable,  than  if,  with 
benumbed  fingers,  thou  wert  following  a  frozen  visage 
to  thy  distant  mansion,  in  the  great  city's  far  purlieus — 
But,  heaven  guard  us !  how  savagely  the  tempest  roars 
and  howls  around  the  chimney  tops — Good  angels 
preserve  the  .poor  mariner  as  he  ascends  the  ice-clad 
rigging — ^lays  out  upon  the  slippery  yard — and  handles 
with  frost-benumbed  fingers  the  rigid  canvass  folds. 
Ah!  I  recollect  it  was  in  just  such  a  night  as  this,  a 
few  years  since — ^years  that  have  rolled  past  into  retro- 
gade  eternity,  that  I  was  seated  in  that  same  arm  chair, 
in  the  same  bachelor  independence,  the  fire  burning  just 
as  brightly — ^the  curtains  as  snugly  drawn — my  beautiful 
Flora  looking  down  with  the  same  sweetness  from  her 
frame  above  the  mantel — ^my  snow  white  Venus  between 
the  piers — the  Gladiator  stretching  forth  his  arm  in  just 
such  proud  defiance  from  his  pedestal — my  Rembrandt 
—Claude — and  Rubetis  flickering  in  softness  in  the  fire- 


OLD     TRINITY     STEEPLS. 


180 


light — the  Fornarinaand  St.  Cecilia  with  vase  of  incense 
clasped,  and  upturned  eyes  of  deep  devotion,  hanging  in 
the  same  placid  stillness  between  their  silken  tassels, 
and  that  ^olian  harp  chiming  just  such  wild  and  fitful 
strains — 'twas  in  just  such  a  cold  and  inhospitable 
night,  that,  sitting  with  my  legs  extended  upon  the  fen- 
der, I  fell  into  a  train  of  rather  melancholy  musings. 

The  clock  of  St.  Paul's  slowly  doled  out  the  hour 
of  midnight,  and  it  seemed  as  if  in  the  responsive, 
aM'*s-w-e«l-l  of  the  watchman,  rendered  indistinct  by 
the  distance,  the  spirit  of  the  hour  was  bewailing  in 
plaintive  tones  the  annihilation  of  its  being.  Time's 
brazen  voice  announced  to  unheeding  thousands—"  Ye 
are  rushing  on  eternity."  I  thought  of  my  friends  who 
had  dropped  off  one  by  one,  from  aroupd  me, — ^youth 
and  old  age  had  alike  sunk  into  the  abyss  of  death-— 
consumption — fever — palsy — had  done  their  work; 
the  slight  ripple  of  their  exit  had  subsided,  and  all  was 
still — as  quiet  and  as  beautiful  as  if  they  had  never 

been.     Among  others,  was  poor  Louisa  S ,  in  the 

prime  of  her  youth,  and  the  bloom  of  her  beauty. 
But  one  short  week — she  was  the  pride  of  her  friends, 
the  idol  of  her  husband ; — in  another,  the  slow  toll  of 
the  village  bell  announced  her  funeral.  I  shall  never 
forget  the  scene.  The  soft  yellow  light  of  the  declin- 
ing sun  was  streaming  through  the  lofty  elms  which 
bordered  the  rustic  grave-yard,  painting  their  broad 
shadows  on  the  velvet  turf,  as  the  procession  of  mourn- 


190 


OLD   TRINITY    BTBEPLI* 


era  slowly  wended  their  way  among  the  mounds  which 
covered  the  decaying  remnants  of  mortality.     Leaning 
upon  a  tomb-stone  near  the  fresh  dug  grave,   I  had 
awaited  its  arrival.     The  bier  was  placed  upon  the 
ground — the  coffin-lid  was  thrown  open,  and  friends 
looked  for  the  last  time  upon  the  beautiful  face,  pallid 
and  sharp  in  death.     Her  dark  hair  was  parted  upon 
her  forehead, — but  the  dampness  of  death  had  deprived 
it  of  its  lustre,  and  her  soft  eyes  were  closed  in  the 
slumber  from  whence  they  were  never  again  to  wake.  I 
gazed  long  and  painfully  upon  that  face  which  appeared 
to  repose  only  in  serene  and  tranquil  sleep,  while  the 
sobbing  group  reached  forward  to  catch  a  last  and 
parting  glimpse  of  it  in  its  loveliness.     Oh !  I  could  not 
realize  that  the  lovely  form  was  still  forever — that 
those  lips  were  to  remain  closed,  till  the  day*  when 
amid  whirlwinds   and  fire,  they  were  to  plead   her 
cause  before  the  Almighty.     The  coffin-lid  was  re- 
placed in  silence — a  suppressed  whisper  from  the  sex- 
ton— a  harsh  grating  of  the  cords,  and  the  gaping  pit 
received  its  prey.     While  the  clergyman  in  his  deep 
and  gloomy  voice,  was  pronouncing  the  burial  service 
of  the  dead,  I  looked  around  upon  the  uncovered 
group, — the  mother  and  sister  in  unrestrained  sobs, 
gave  vent  to  their  anguish,  but  the  husband  stood,  his 
eyes  fixed  upon  the  grave  in  deep  and  silent  agony. 
He  moved  not,  but  when  the  dead  heavy  clamp  of  earth 
and  stones  fell  upon  the  coffin,  which  contained  the 


OLD    TRINITY    ITBEPLB. 


101 


remains  of  all  that  was  dear  to  him,  ho  gave  a  gasp,  as 
if  he  had  received  a  death  wound — but  that  was  all ; 
—the  thick,  convulsive  breathing,  and  the  swollen  ar- 
teries upon  his  temples,  showed  that  his  was  the  bitter- 
ness  of  despair.  Ere  long,  his  wasted  form  beneath 
its  own  green  hillock,  rested  at  her  side. 

I  had  sat  some  time,  thinking  **  of  all  the  miseries 
that  this  world  is  heir  to,"  when  gradually,  my  room 
became  mazy,  the  tongs  and  fender  were  blended 
into  one — the  fire  slowly  disappeared,  and,  to  my 
utter  horror  and  astonishment,  I  found  myself  swing- 
ing upon  the  weather-cock  of  Trinity  Church  steeple. 
— How  I  came  there,  I  could  not  tell,  but  there  I  was. 
Far,  far  below  me,  I  saw  the  long  rows  of  lamps  ia 
Broadway  and  the  adjoining  streets,  shining  in  lines 
of  fire  ;  while  here  and  there  the  glimmer  of  those 
upon  the  carriages,  as  they  rolled  along,  resembled  the 
ignis  fatui  in  their  ghostly  revels  upon  the  morass. 
The  bay  lay  in  the  distance,  glittering  in  the  moon- 
light, a  sea  of  silver,  the  islands  and  fortresses  like 
huge  monsters  resting  upon  its  bosom.  All  nature 
appeared  at  rest.  An  instant,  and  but  an  instant,  I 
gazed  in  wild  delight  upon  the  scene ;  but  as  the 
novelty  vanished,  the  dreadful  reality  of  my  situation 
became  apparent.  I  looked  above  me — the  stars 
were  trembling  in  the  realms  of  space.  I  looked  be- 
low, and  shuddered  at  the  distance — I  tried  to  believe 
that  I  was  in  a  dream — but  that  relief  was  denied  me; 


102 


OLD     TRINITY    STEEPLE. 


I  grew  wild  with  fear — ^I  madly  called  for  help — ^I 
screamed — I  yelled  in  desperation.  Alas  !  my  voice 
could  not  be  heard  one  half  the  distance  to  earth.  I 
called  on  angels — -Heaven,  to  assist  me, — ^but  the  cold 
wind  alone  answered,  as  it  rushed  around  the  steeple 
in  its  whistle  of  contempt.  As  my  animal  spirits  were 
exhausted,  I  became  more  calm.  I  perceived  that 
the  slender  iron  upon  which  the  weather-cock  was 
fixed  was  slowly  bending  with  the  weight  of  my  body, 
already  benumbed  with  cold.  Although  it  was  mad- 
ness, I  ventured  a  descent.  Moving  with  extreme  cau- 
tion, I  clasped  the  spire  in  my  arms — I  slid  down  inch 
by  inch.  The  cold  sweat  poured  off  my  brow,  and 
the  blood  curdling  in  my  veins,  rushed  back  in  thick 
and  suffocating  throbs  upon  my  heart.  I  grasped  the 
steeple  tighter  in  my  agony — my  nails  were  clenched 
in  the  wood — ^but  in  vain;  slip-^slip — the  steeple 
enlarged  as  I  descended — my  hold  relaxed — ^the  flat 
palms  of  my  hands  pressed  the  sides,  as  I  slid  down 
with  frightful  rapidity.  Could  I  but  catch  the  ledge 
below  !  I  succeeded — I  clutched  it  in  my  bleeding 
fingers — for  a  moment  I  thought  that  I  was  safe,  but  I 
swung  over  the  immense  height  in  an  instant;  the 
wind  dashed  me  from  side  to  side  like  a  feather.  I 
strove  to  touch  the  sides  of  the  steeple  with  my  knees 
— I  could  not  reach  it — my  strength  began  to  fail — I 
felt  the  muscles  of  my  fingers  growing  weaker.  The 
blackness  of  despair  came  over  me.    My  fingers  slid 


OLD    TRINITY     STEEPL 


103 


from  the  ledge — down — down  I  plunged— one  dash 
upon  the  roof,  and  I  was  stretched  motionless  upon  the 
pavement. 

A  crowd  collected  around  me.  I  heard  them  com- 
misserating  my  fate.  They  looked  at  me,  and  then  at 
the  steeple,  as  if  measuring  the  distance  from  whence 
I  had  fallen ;  but  they  oftered  me  no  assistance.  They 
dispersed — I  slowly  raised  myself  on  my  feet — all  was 
cold  and  still  as  the  grave.  Regions  of  ice — an  im- 
mense transparent  mirror,  extended  on  every  side 
around  me.  The  cold,  smooth  plain,  was  only  mea- 
sured by  the  horizon.  I  found  myself  on  skates  ; — I 
rushed  along,  outstripping  the  winds, — I  ascended 
mountains  of  ice, — I  descended  like  a  meteor — Russia, 
with  her  frozen  torrents,— Siberia  with  its  eternal  snows» 
were  behind  me, — miles  and  degrees  were  nothing — on 
I  rushed,--Iceland  vanished,--with  the  speed  of  a  thun- 
derbolt I  passed  Spitzbergen, — days,  weeks  expired,  but 
still  I  sped  forward,  without  fatigue,  without  exhaustion. 
Howdelightflulyl  glided  along — ^no  effort — no  exertion 
—all  was  still,  cold,  and  brilliant.  I  neared  the  pole, — 
the  explorers  were  slowly  wending  their  tedious  way,— 
they  hailed  me,  but  I  could  not  stop, — I  was  out  of  sight 
in  an  instant.  I  saw  an  immense  object  swinging  to 
and  fro  in  the  distance — it  was  the  great  and  mighty 
pendulum.  As  I  neared  it,  a  confused  noise  of  voices 
broke  upon  my  ear* — mathematical  terms  echoed  and  re- 
echoed each  other,  like  the  hum  of  a  bee-hive.  I  was 
13 


194 


OLD     TRINITY     STEEPt 


surrounded  with  winged  chronometers,  barometers  and 
magnets — plus,  (+)  minus  (— )  and  the  roots  ( -^  ^) 
were  flying  around  me  in  every  direction,  jostling  each 
other  without  mercy.  Great  long-legged  compasses 
with  knowing  look  were  gravely  listening  to  the  meas- 
ured tick  of  prim  chronometers,  and  groups  of  angles 
and  parallelograms  watched  the  variations  of  the 
needle.  Every  instrument  of  science  appeared  col- 
lected in  solemn  conclave,  for  great  and  mighty  pur- 
pose,— but  soon  all  was  hubbub  and  confusion.  The 
compasses  and  Gunther's  scale  had  come  to  blows. 
Angles  and  triangles,  oblongs  and  cones,  formed  a 
ring  around  them.  Little  cylinders  and  circles  came 
rolling  in  from  every  quarter  to  see  the  fun,  and  bottle- 
holding  squares  and  cubes  stood  stoutly  at  their 
champions*  sides,  while  electric  jars  mounted  on  a 
neighbouring  dial,  in  highest  glee,  spirited  forth  whole 
streams  of  snapping  sparks  to  incite  them  in  the  contest. 
The  scale  was  down,  and  the  compass  bestrode  him  in 
proud  defiance  ;  but  the  bottle-holders  interfering,  all 
was  instant  uproar  and  confusion,  and  the  fight  soon  be- 
came one  common  melee.  Pins  flew  about,  and  springs 
and  wheels  went  whizzing  through  the  throng,  but  amid 
the  tumult,  suddenly  appeared  a  huge  electrical  ma- 
chine, grinding  wrathfully  along,  and  soon  the  field  was 
cleared,  and  nought  was  seen  save  here  and  there 
some  limping  figure  hobbling  oflf  in  desperate  precipi- 
tation.   But  amid  the  uproari  the  giant  pendulum  still 


OLD    TR  IN  I 


STEEPLE. 


105 


swung  forward  and  backward  with  the  noiseless  mo- 
tion of  the  incubus  ; — I  neared  it  and  saw  that  the  top 
of  the  huge  rod  was  riveted  by  the  pole  star^  which 
shone  with  the  intensity  of  the  diamond.  But — ^but— 
I  saw  the  ship  approaching  among  the  distant  ice* 
bergs — ^the  great  lordly  icebergs, — ^how  they  rolled 
and  roared  and  ground  against  each  other  in  the  heavy 
surge ! — their  huge  sides  now  shining  great  sheets  of 
silver — now  glancing  with  the  deep  blue  of  the  precious 
sapphire*  now  quivering  in  the  sun's  rays,  with  all  the 
hues  of  the  grass-green  emerald  and  blazing  ruby, — 
ha !  I  saw  her — I  saw  the  gallant  ship  threading  her 
way  among  them,  as  their  castellated  sides  towered 
mountain-like  above  her.  I  made  one  spring — one 
gallant  spring — and  catching  by  her  top-mast,  slid  down 
in  safety  to  her  decks.  Her  sails  were  spread  widely 
to  the  winds  and  recklessly  we  ploughed  our  course 
onward  through  the  icy  flood ; — but  now  her  speed 
diminished — now  we  scarcely  moved.  The  rudder 
creaked  lazily  from  side  to  side,  and  the  long  pennant 
supinely  resting  on  the  shrouds,  languidly  lifted  itself 
as  if  to  peer  into  the  dark  flood,  and  then  serpent-like, 
settled  itself  again  to  its  repose.  A  sullen  distant  roar 
began  to  break  upon  my  ear, — it  increased, — our  be- 
fore quiet  bark,  hastening,  rushed  onwards  as  if  ashamed 
of  her  dull  reverie  ;  but  still  there  was  no  wind — the 
sea  was  smooth  and  placid,  but  the  swelling  surge  was 
thrown  forward  from  her  bows,  by  the  increasing  velo- 


106 


OLD    TRINITY    STEEPLE. 


city  with  which  we  clashed  along.  The  rushing  noise 
of  waters  increased)  and  sounded  like  distant  thunder ; 
the  white  surges  showed  themselves  in  the  distance, 
leaping  and  jumping  with  frightful  violence.  I  ap- 
proached the  captain  ; — ^his  gloomy  brow — the  ghastly 
paleness  of  the  crew,  as  with  folded  arms  they  stood 
looking  in  the  distance,  alarmed  me.  I  eagerly  asked 
the  cause  of  the  appearances  before  me, — he  answered 
not, — he  stood  immoveable  as  a  statue  : — but,  in  a  cold 
unearthly  voice,  a  scar-marked  sailor  groaned,  "  We 
are  food  for  the  Maelstroom !" — Can  we  not,  I  franticly 
exclaimed — oh !  can  we  not  escape  ?  Bend  every  sail 
— ^ply  every  oar, — "  Too  late — ^too  late,"  echoed  again 
the  gloomy  voice — ♦*  our  doom  is  sealed;"— and  the  fin- 
ger of  the  speaker  pointed  to  a  dark  fiendish  figure  at 
the  helm,  who,  with  a  low  hellish  laugh,  was  steering 
for  the  midst.  The  raging  waves  boiled  and  roared 
around  us,— our  fated  ship  plunged  forward — ^a  steady 
resistless  power  sucked  us  in, — on  we  were  hurried  to 
our  frightful  goal.  The  whale — the  leviathan,  swept 
by  us — ^their  immense  bodies  were  thrown  almost  en- 
tirely in  the  air, — their  blood  stained  the  foaming  brine 
—they  roared  like  mad  bulls.  The  zigzag  lightning  in 
the  black  canopy  above  us,  was  reflected  in  fiery 
showers  from  the  spray — the  crashing  thunder  mingled 
"with  the  yells  of  the  struggling  monsters — their  eflbrts 
were  vain — more  power  had  infants  in  giants'  hands» 
— ^the  devouring  whirlpool  claimed  us  for  its  own.    On 


OLD    TRINITY    STEEPLE. 


197 


we  were  borne  in  unresisting  weakness — faster  and 
faster, — circle  after  circle  disappeared, — we  were  on 
the  edge  of  the  furious  watery  tunnel, — we  were  bu- 
ried in  its  depths, — the  long  arms  of  the  loathsome 
polypi  stretched  forward  to  seize  us  in  their  foul  em- 
brace— but  an  unseen  hand  raised  me. 

Green  woods — gardens,  fountains,  and  grottoes  were 
around  me.  Beautiful  flowers — roses — hyacinths,  and 
lilies  clustering  in  immense  beds,  covered  the  ground 
with  one  great  gem'd  and  emerald  carpet.  The 
gorgeous  tulip,  the  amaranthus  and  moss  rose  vied 
with  each  otlier  in  fragrant  rivalry,  and  the  modest 
little  violet,  claimed  protection  in  the  embraces  of 
the  myrtle.  Fountains  poured  mimic  cataracts  into 
their  marble  basins,  or,  spouting  from  the  mouths  cf 
sphinxes  and  lions,  ascended  in  crystal  streams,  irriga- 
ting with  copious  showers  the  party-coloured  beds 
beneath.  The  long  vistas  were  shaded  with  the  mag- 
nolia and  flowering  almond,  while  snow-white  statues 
watched  the  beautiful  picture  of  happiness  around. 
Birds  of  variegated  colour  and  splendid  plumage  were 
flying  from  tree  to  tree,  and  it  appeared  as  if  in  their 
sweet  notes,  and  the  fragrance  of  the  (lowers,  nature 
was  offering  up  her  incense  to  the  Creator. 

I  was  invigorated  with  new  life — I  ran  from  alley  to 
alleys-delicious  fruits  tempted  my  taste — the  perfumes 
of  Arabia  floated  in  the  earthly  paradise, — music  floated 
around, — trains  of  beautiful  girls   moved  in  graceful 


Illj>t  ■  II ' 


198 


OLD    TRINITY    STEEPLE. 


ballets  before  me, — ^their  slender  forms  were  clad  in 
snow-white  robes, — their  girdles  gemmed  with  dia- 
monds— ^their  alabaster  necks  twined  with  wreaths 
of  roses. — A  joyous  laugh  burst  from  them,  as  they 
danced — ^now  in  circles — now  advancing — now  re- 
treating. The  circle  opened, — a  veiled  figure  was  in 
the  midst, — I  approached — the  fairies  disappeared,— 
the  veil  was  slowly  lifted, — one  moment^ — my  Cora  ! 
—we  were  alone, — we  wandered  from  bower  to  bow- 
er— ^her  small  white  hand  with  electric  touch,  was 
within  my  delighted  grasp, — ^her  golden  ringlets  ming- 
led with  my  raven  locks— her  dark  eyes  melted  into 
mine.  I  fell  upon  my  knee — a  cold  and  grizzly  skele- 
ton met  my  embrace — the  groups  of  houris  were 
changed  into  bands  of  shrivelled  hags ; — in  place  of 
wreaiths  of  roses,  their  shrivelled  necks  were  covered 
with  the  deadly  nightshade  and  dark  mandragora— 
forked  adders  and  serpents  twined  upon  their  long 
and  bony  arms, — I  shuddered, — I  was  chained  in 
horror  to  the  spot, — they  seized  me — they  dragged 
me  downward  to  the  dank  and  noisome  vault. — 'Twas 
light  as  day — ^but  Hwas  a  strange  light — a  greenish 
haze — sickly  and  poisonous  as  if  the  deadly  miasma 
of  the  fens  had  turned  to  flame.  The  dead  men  with 
burning  lamps  were  sitting  on  their  coffins, — their  chins 
resting  upon  their  drawn  up  knees,  and  as  I  passed 
along  the  extended  rows,  their  eyes  all  turned  and 
followed  mpt  A9  the  eyes  of  portraits  from  the  canvass. 


OLD    TEINITT    8TEBPLE. 


190 


Ha !  nirhat  cadayerous  unearthly  stare  met  me  at  everjT 
turn ; — T  looked  on  all  sides  to  avoid  them«  but  still* 
where'er  T  turned,  the  ghastly  muffled  faces  with  their 
blanched  lips,  and  deep  sunken  eyes  livid  in  their 
sdckets,  surveyed  me  with  frightful  interest, — and  that 
fierce  old  hag— how  she  preceded  me — step  by  step — 
her  finger  pointing  forward,  while  her  Medusa  head 
was  turned  triumphantly  over  her  shoulder,  with  its 
infernal  leer  upon  my  towering  form. — Worlds  would 
I  have  given  to  have  been  out  from  among  the  ghastly 
crew — but  a  spell  was  on  me — and  I  hurriedly  made 
the  circuit  of  the  vault,  like  a  wild  beast  in  his  cage. 
But  the  old  knight,  sitting  grim  and  ghastly  as  if  by 
constraint,  in  the  lone  corner,  his  long  grizzly  beard 
flowing  o'er  his  winding-sheet, — O!  how  his  cold 
grey  eye  glanced  at  his  long  two  handed  sword  before 
him,  as  I  passed,  as  if  to  clutch  it, — I  plucked  the  old 
greybeard  for  very  ire — ^ha  !  what  a  malignant  and  dis- 
cordant yell  did  then  salute  my  horror-struck  senses,-^ 
I  gave  one  bound  of  terror^ — and  burst  the  prison  door-^ 
and — and-^ 

My  noble  white  charger  leaped  clear  of  the  earth, 
as  he  felt  my  weight  in  the  saddle, — I  was  at  the  head 
of  an  immense  army — my  bold  cuirassiers  formed  a 
moving  mass  of  iron  around  me.  The  bugle  sounded 
the  signal  for  engagement ; — peal  after  peal  of  mus* 
ketry  flashed  from  the  dark  masses, — the  rattling  re- 
verberating roar  rolled  from  right  to  left, — the  gaping 


►»i;;^-»ici 


200 


OLD.  TRINITY    8TEEPLB. 


throats  of  the  cannon,  announced  in  broad  flashes,  the 
departure  of  their  messengers  upon  the  journey  of 
death.  On  we  rushed — battalion  on  battalion, — we 
stormed  the  redoubt, — "  Charge,"!  shouted, — **  Charge 
the  villains — men  of  the  fifth  legion — follow  your 
leader — hurrah — they  bear  back.'* — I  siezed  the  stan- 
dard from  a  fallen  soldier,^!  planted  it  upon  the  blood- 
stained parapets-horrible  confusion! — the  trenches 
were  choked  with  dead — Hah!  brave  comrade  be- 
ware!— his  bayonet  is  at  thy  shoulder — ^'tis  buried 
in  thy  heart. — I  will  revenge  thee, ! — 1  dashed  upon 
him,^we  fought  like  tigers, — we  rolled  upon  the 
ground, — ^I  seized  my  dagger — the  bright  steel  glittered 
—thousands  of  deep  hoarse  voices  wildly  roared — 
"  The  mine — the  mine — ^beware — ^beware !''  Flash — 
roar — ^bodies — earth — crocks — horses  -7-  tumbrils, — all 
descending,  covered  me— and — and 

I  awoke — the  fender  and  fire-irons  upset  with  horrid 
din  and  clatter — the  table,  its  lights  and  tea-set 
hurled  around— and  myself  with  might  and  main  striv- 
ing with  mighty  effort  to  get  from  beneath  the  prostrate 
wreck  which  in  my  terror  I  had  dragged  above  me. 
—Old  Neptune,  aghast,  howling  in  consternation,  from 
the  corner,  while  a  group  of  fellow-boarders,  half  dead 
with  laughter  and  amazement,  were  staring  through  the 
open  door  in  wonder  at  such  unusual  uproar  from  the 
lodger  in  quiet «  No.  VI."  , 


LONG   ISLAND    SOUND. 


But  hark  !  Old  Scipio  is  fast  asleep  and  snoring 
like  Falstaff  behind  the  arras.  Now  that  old  negro 
is  as  assuredly  dreaming  of  witches,  or  wrecks,  or 
pirates,  or  ghosts,  that  have  been  seen  flitting  about 
the  burying-grounds  and  country  church-yards  at  mid- 
night, as  he  sits  there.  He  is  somewhere  between 
eighty  and  one  hundred,  he  does  not  exactly  know 
which ;  but  as  your  negro  keeps  no  family  record,  it  is 
safe  to  allow  a  lee-way  of  some  ten  years  in  the  cal- 
culation of  his  nativity.  Of  his  genealogy  though, 
he  is  quite  sure,  for  he  proves  beyond  a  doubt,  that 
he  is  the  son  of  Job,  who  was  the  son  of  Pomp,  who 
was  the  son  of  Caleb,  who  was  the  son  of  Ctesar,  who 
was  the  son  of  Cudjoe,  who  was  caught  in  Africa. 
His  whole  life  has  been  passed  in  and  about  the 
shores  of  Long  Island  Sound,  and  he  is  not  only  a 
veritable  chronicle  of  the  military  adventures  that  have 
been  enacted  upon  its  borders  in  the  American  warSi 
but  his  head  is  a  complete  storehouse,  stuffed  to  over- 
flowing with  all  sorts  of  legendary  lore,  of  wrecks,  of 
pirates,  of  murders  and  fights,  and  deeds  unholy — of 
massacres,  bombasdments  and  burnings,  all  jumbled  up 
in  such  inexplicable  confusion,  history  and  legend, 


202 


LONG     ISLAND     SOUND. 


truth  and  fiction,  that  it  is  almost  impossible  to  divide 
the  one  from  the  other.  Sometimes  in  the  cold  winter 
nights,  when  the  storm  is  howling,  as  it  does  now,  I 
put  him  upon  the  track,  and  upon  my  word,  the  influ- 
ence of  hi^  gossip  told  in  drowsy  under  tone  is  such, 
that  I  find  it  a  matter  of  serious  question,  whether  the 
most  monstrous  things  in  the  way  of  the  supernatural, 
are  by  any  means  matter  of  wonderment  i  and  fully 
concede,  that  men  may  have  been  seen  walking  about 
with  their  heads  under  their  arms,  vanishing  in  smokq 
upon  being  addressed — that  old  fishermen  have  sculled 
about  the  creeks  and  bays  in  their  coffins,  after  they 
were  dead  and  buried — that  gibbets  are  of  necessity 
surrounded  by  ghosts,  and  that  prophecies  and  predic- 
tions, aud  witchcraft  are,  and  must  be  true  as  holy 
writ. 

Indeed,  with  all  the  sad  realities  of  life  about  me,  I 
find  it  refreshing  to  have  my  soul  let  loose  occa- 
sionally, to  wander  forth,  to  frolic  and  gambol,  and 
stare,  without  any  conventional  rule,  or  let,  or  hin- 
drance to  restrain  it.  In  how  many  adventures  has 
that  good  old  negro,  quietly  sleeping  in  the  corner, 
been  my  guide  and  pilot.  In  our  shooting,  and  fishing 
and  sailing  excursions,  the  shores  of  the  Sound  be* 
came  as  familiar  to  us  as  our  own  firesides,  and  the 
dark  black  rocks,  with  their  round  and  kelp  covered 
sides  as  the  faces  of  old  friends  and  Acquaintance. 

At  a  little  village  upon  its  western  borders  I  passed 


/»^ .-.  .^v^. 


LONG    ISLAND   SOUND. 


208 


my  schoolboy  days,  and  there  it  was  that  the  old 
negro,  formerly  a  slave,  but  long  liberated  and  in  part 
supported  by  my  family,  had  his  hut.     There  it  was 
that  under  his  influence  I  thoroughly  contracted  the 
love  of  adventure  which,  in  the  retrospect  still  throws 
a  sort  of  world   of  my  own  around  me.      All  sport, 
whether  in  winter  or  summer,  night  or  day,  rain  or 
shine,  was  alike  to  me  the  same,  and  sooth  to  say,  if 
sundry  floggings,  for  truant  days  had  been  administer- 
ed to  Old  Scip  instead  of  me,  the  scale  of  justice  had 
not  unduly  preponderated ;  for  his  boats,  and  rods,  and 
nets,  to  say  nothing  of  his  musket  which  had  belonged 
to  a  Hessian,  and  the  long  bell-mouthed  French  fusee 
were  always  sedulously  and  invitingly  placed  at  my 
control.      The  old  negro  was  sure  to  meet  me  as  I 
bounded  from  the  schoolroom  with  advice  of  how  the 
tides  would  serve,  and  how  the  game  would  lie,  and 
his  words  winding  up  his  information  in  a  low  confl* 
dential  under-tone  still  ring  upon  my  ear,  **  P'rhaps 
young  massa  like  to  go  wid  old  nigger." 

His  snug  little  hut  down  at  the  Creek  side  was  cov« 
ered  and  patched  and  thatched  with  all  the  experiments 
of  years  to  add  to  its  warmth  and  comfort.  Its  gables 
and  chimney  surmounted  with  little  weathercocks  and 
windmills  spinning  most  furiously  at  every  whifl"  of 
wind,  its  sides  covered  with  muskrat  and  loon  skins 
nailed  up  to  dry,  «nd  fishing  rods  and  spears  of  all 
sizes  and  dimensions  piled  against  them,  the  ducks 


204 


LONG   ISLAND   lOUNO. 


and  geese  paddling  about  the  threshhold  and  his  great 
fat  hog  grunting  in  loving  proximity  to  the  door-  way, 
ivhile  its  interior  was  garnished  with  pots  and  kettles* 
and  other  culinary  utensils ;  the  trusty  old  musket  hang- 
ing on  its  hooks  above  the  chimney  place ;  the  fish  nets 
and  bird  decoys  lying  in  the  corners,  and  the  white- 
washed walls  garnished  and  covered  with  picturest 
and  coloured  prints  of  the  most  negro  taste  indigo  and 
scarlet, — naval  fights— men  hanging  on  gibbets, — mon- 
strous apparitions  which  had  been  seen — lamentable 
ballads,  and  old  Satan  himself  in  veritable  semblance, 
tail,  horns  and  claws,  precisely  as  he  had  appeared  in 
the  year  Anno  Domini,  1763 ;  and  under  the  little  square 
mahogany  framed  fly  specked  looking-glass,  his  Satanic 
Majesty  again  in  full  scarlet  uniform  as  British  Colonel 
with  a  party  of  ladies  and  gentlemen  playing  cards, 
his  tail  quietly  curled  around  one  of  the  legs  of  his 
arm  chair,  and  the  horse  hoof  ill  disguised  by  the  great 
rose  upon  his  shoe.  But  Scip'  was  safe  against  all 
such  diabolic  influence,  for  he  had  the  charmed  horse 
shoe  firmly  nailed  over  the  entrance  of  his  door. 

Oh !  ho  .V  often  have  I  silently  climbed  out  of  my  win- 
dow and  stealthily  crept  down  the  ladder  which  passed 
it,  long  and  long  before  the  dawn,  willi  my  fowling  pieco 
upon  my  shoulder,  and  by  the  fitful  moonlight  wended, 
half  scart/d,  my  way  through  the  rustic  roads  and  lanes, 
leaping  the  fences,  saturated  to  thp  middle  with  the 
night-dew  from  U  c  lon^  wet  r^r&aa,  the  stars  twinkling 


LO  NO   ISLAND    ■  O  ir  N  D. 


205 


in  the  heavens,  as  the  wild  sciiddinsr  clouJn  passed 
o'er  them,  and  nothing  to  break  the  perfert  stillitcss. 
Hovir  often  at  such  times  have  I  stopped  and  star<'(I  at 
some  suspicious  object  looming  up  before  me,  till,  aiiid- 
tering  courage,  I  have  cocked  my  piece  and  advancing 
at  a  trail,  disc  ve red  in  the  object  of  my  terror,  a  dozing 
horse,  >  ^,  ti*  n^  ox,  or  cow  quietly  ruminating  at  the 
rouu  sidt!. 

How  often  have  I  sprung  suddenly  aside,  my  hair 
standing  on  end,  as  a  steal  thy  fox  or  prowling  dog  rush- 
ed by  me  into  the  bushes,  and  felt  my  blood  tingle  to 
my  very  fingers'  ends,  as  some  bird  of  prey  raised  him- 
self with  an  uneasy  scream  and  settled  again  upon  the 
tree  tops,  as  I  passed  beneath.  How  I  used  to  screw 
my  courage  up,  as  with  long  strides  and  studiously 
averted  eyes,  I  hurried  past  the  dreaded  grave  yard ; 
and  as  I  came  upon  the  borders  of  the  winding  creek, 
and  walked  splashing  through  its  ponds  and  shallows, 
how  would  I  crouch  and  scan  through  the  dim  light  to 
catch  a  glimpse  of  some  stray  flock  of  ducks  or  teal, 
that  might  be  feeding  upon  its  sedges.  How  would  I 
bend  and  stoop  as  I  saw  them  delightfully  huddled  in 
a  cluster,  tilkgetting  near  I  would  find  an  envious  bend 
■A  long  distance  to  be  measured  before  I  could  get  a 
shot.  How  patiently  would  I  creep  along — and  stop— « 
and  crouch — and  stop,  till  getting  near,  and  nearer — a 
sudden  slump  into  some  unseen  bog  or  ditch  would  be 
folio  wed  by  a  quick  ♦*  quack  " — "  quack  "—and  ofi'tjiey  *d 


Hl1iuBiini,.nin.n;ii|i 


I   ( 


J 


206 


LONG     ISLAND       SOUND. 


go — far  out  of  reach  of  shot  or  call.  But  all  would  be 
forgotten  when  I  reached  the  old  Negro's  hut.  There 
a  hot  corn  cake  and  broiled  fish  or  bird,  was  always  on 
the  coals  to  stay  my  appetite — and  then  off  we'd  sally 
io  the  Bar  to  lie  i'"  .wait  for  the  wild  fowl  as  they  came 
over  it  at  day  breait.  The  snipe  in  little  clouds  would 
startup  with  their  sharp  "pewhit" before  us,  as  we 
measured  the  broad  hard  flats  left  damp  and  smooth  by 
the  receding  tide ;  the  Kildare  with  querulous  cry  would 
wing  away  his  flight,  and  the  great  gaunt  cranes,  loom- 
ing, spectre-like,  in  the  moonlight,  sluggishly  stalking 
onwards,  would  clumsily  lift  their  long  legs  in  silence 
as  we  advanced,  and  fan  themselves  a  little  farther 
from  our  proximity. 

Arriving,  we  would  lay  ourselves  down,  and  on  the 
stones  await  the  breaking  of  the  dawn,  when  the  wild- 
fowl feeding  within  the  bay  arise  and  fly  to  the  south- 
ward over  it.     Dark  objects,  one  after  another,  would 
glide  by^s,  and  in  silence  take  their  places  along  the 
bar,  bent  on  the  same  sport  that  we  were  awaiting, 
and  nothing  would  break  the  stillness  save  the  gentle 
wash  aad  ripple  of  the  waves  upon  the  sands,  or  the 
uneasy  and  discordant  cry  of  the  oldwives^  feeding  on 
the  long  sedge  within  the  wide-extended  bay.     The 
stars  would  ere  long  begin  to  fade,  the  east  grow  grey, 
then  streaked  with  light,  and  every  sportsman's  piece 
be  cocked  with  eager  expectation.     A  flash — a  puflf  of 
smoke  at  the  extreme  end,  showed  that  a  flock  had 


LONG    ISLAND    SOUND. 


207 


risen,  and  simultaneously  birds  would  be  seen  tum- 
bling headlong.     As  the  astonished  flock  glanced  along 
the  bar — flash — flash — ^puff" — bang,  would  meet  them, 
their  numbers  thinning  at  each  discharge,  till  passing 
along  the  whole  line  of  sportsmen,  they  would  be 
almost  annihilated ;    or  wildly  dashing  through  some 
wider  interval  in  the  chain  of  gunners,  they  would  cross 
the  bar  and  escape  in  safety.     Then  as  the  light  in- 
creased followed  the  excitement ;  the  birds  getting  up 
in  dense  flocks,  all  bent  in  one  direction,  a  complete 
feu-de-joie  saluted  them — flash — flash — flash — the  re- 
ports  creeping  slowly  after,  the  wild-fowl  tumbling 
headlong,  some  into  the  water,  and  some  upon  the 
sportsmen ;    while  here  a  gunner,  dropping  his  piece, 
might  be  seen  rushing  in  up  to  his  neck  recklessly 
after  his  victim,  and  there  some  staunch  dog's  nose 
just  above  the  surface,  unweariediy  pursuing  the  wing- 
broken  suflerer,  which  still  fluttered  forward  at  his  near 
approach.   Ah,  ha!  that — that  was  sport.   Hundreds  of 
wildfowl,  from  the  little  graceful  teal  to  the  great  fishy 
loon  and  red-head  brant,  were  the  fruits  of  the  morn- 
ing's adventure.     And  what  a  contrast  the  sparkling 
eyes  and  glowing  faces  of  the  elated  sportsmen  to 
the  city's  pale  and  care-worn  countenances.     They 
were  a  true  democracy,  white  man,  and  black,  and 
half-breed,  the  squire  and  the  ploughman,  all  met  in 
like  equality. 

Among  the  sportsmen  on  the  bar  at  the  season  that 


208 


LONG    ISLAND    SOUND. 


I  have  just  described,  there  was  always  found  a  tall, 
gaunt,  and  extremely  taciturn  old  Indian,  who  passed 
among  the  people  by  the  name  of  **  Pequot."    His  hut 
was  about  a  mile  beyond  Scipio's,  on  the  same  creek, 
and  like  him,  he  obtained  his  support  mainly  by  the 
fruits  of  his  hunting  and  fishing.     Now  and  then,  in 
the  harvest,  or  when  the  game  was  scarce,  he  would 
assist  the  farmers  in  their  lighter  work,  receiving,  with 
neither  thanks  nor  stipulation,  such   recompense  as 
they  saw  fit  to  make  ;    and  sometimes,  in  th^  cold 
depths  of  winter,  he  would  appear,  and  silently  sitting 
at  their  firesides,  receive,  as  a  sort  of  right,  his  trench- 
ei  at  their  tables.     He  was  so  kind  in  his  assistance^ 
and   so  inoffensive  to  all  around  him,  that  he  was 
always  sure  of  welcome.     But  there  was  a  marked  fea- 
ture in  his  character,  and  one  most  unusual  to  the  Indi- 
an's nature,  which,  was  his  dislike,  almost  to  loathing, 
of  ardent  spirits.     He  was  a  great  deal  at  Scipio's  hut, 
and  I  vfis  strongly  struck  (boy  as  I  was)  with  the  har- 
mony which  subsisted  between  two  characters  so  appa- 
rently dissimilar — the  sullen,  almost  haughty  Indian, 
and  the  light-hearted,  laughter-loving  negrO';  but  there 
was  a  sort  of  common  sympathy — of  oppression,   I; 
suppose — ^between  them,  for  they  always  assisted  one 
another ;  and  sometimes  I  have  known  them  gone  for 
days  together  in  their  fishing  expeditions  on  the  Sound. 
All  the  information  that  Scipio  could  give  me  about 
him,  was  that  he  had  been  the  same  ever  since  he  had 


LONO    ISLAND    SOUND. 


209 


known  hini,  that  he  was  supposed  to  have  come  ia 
from  some  of  the  Western  tribes,  and  that  from  his 
haunting  a  great  deal  about  a  neighbouring  swampr 
where  the  gallant  tribe  of  Pequots  had,  long  years  be» 
fore,  been  massacred  by  fire  and  sword,  the  peo- 
ple had  given  him  the  name  of  Pequot,  Whatever  he 
was,  he  was  a  noble  old  Indian ;  the  poetry  of  the 
character  was  left,  while  contact  with  the  whites,  and 
the  kind  teachings  of  the  Moravians  had  hewn  away 
the  sterner  features  of  the  savage.  I  remember  that 
I  used  to  look  at  him,  with  all  a  boy's  enthusiasm* 
admiring  him  with  a  mingled  sense  of  sympathy  and 
awe.  Even  old  Scip  showed  him  habitual  deference^ 
for  there  was  a  melancholy  dignity  about  him  ;  and  his 
words,  short  and  sententious,  were  delivered  with 
scrupulous  exactness.  I  recollect  once  being  com- 
pletely taken  aback  by  the  display  of  a  sudden  burst 
of  feeling,  which  completely  let  me  into  his  ideal 
claims  and  imaginary  pretensions. 

There  was  a  good-natured  old  Indian,  by  the  name 
of  Pamanack,  belonging  to  one  of  the  tribes  which  still 
clung  to  Long  Island,  in  the  vicinity  of  Montaukett, 
who  occasionally  made  his  appearance  off  old  Scip's 
hut,  in  the  Sound,  in  his  periogue,  accompanied  by 
some  half  dozen  long*legged,  straight-haired,  copper- 
coloured  youths,  his  descendants.  They  every  now 
and  then  came  cruising  along  the  various  fishing- 
grounds,  and  always,  when  in  the  vicinity  of  Scip,  the 
14 


210 


LONG    ISLAND     SOUND. 


;•■ 


old  Indian  would  pay  him  a  visit,  and  receive  a  return 
for  the  hospitality  paid  to  the  black  man,  when,  in  his 
similar  excursions,  he  got  as  far  eastward  as  Mon- 
taukett.  On  the  particular  occasion  to  which  I  have 
alluded,  old  Pamanack  had  drank  more  than  was  good 
for  him,  when  the  Pequot  presented  himself  silently  at 
the  door  of  Scipio's  hut,  and  leaning  upon  his  long 
ducking-gun,  looked  in  upon  the  group.  After  a  few 
words  of  >cognition  passed  between  them,  Pamanack 
held  out  his  black  bottle,  and  invited  the  visiter  to  drink. 
Pequot  drew  himself  up  to  his  extreme  height,  and  for  a 
moment  there  was  a  mingled  expression  of  loathing,  ab- 
horrence, and  ferocity,  flashing  from  his  countenance 
that  showed  that  his  whole  Indian's  nature  was  in  a 
blaze ;  but  it  was  only  momentary,  for  in  another,  the 
expression  vanished  from  his  countenance,  the  habitual 
melancholy  resumed  its  place  upon  his  features,  and  the 
words  fell  slowly,  almost  musically,  from  his  lips  : — 
"  The  fire  water — the  fire  water — ay,  the  same — the 
Indian  and  his  deadly  enemy."  Then  looking  steadily 
at  Pamanack,  as  he  held  the  bottle  still  towards  him  : — 
"  Pequot  will  not  drink.  Why  should  Pamanack  swal- 
low the  white  man's  poison,  and  with  his  own  hanJs 
dig  his  grave  ? 

*♦  Pamanack  is  not  alone  !  His  squaw  watches  at 
the  door  of  his  wigwam,  as  she  looks  out  upon 
the  long  waves  of  the  ocean  tumbling  in  upon 
the  shores  of  Montaukett.  His  young  men  gather 
about   him    and    catch   the    tautusr    from    its 


huge 


LONG    ISLAND    SOUND. 


211 


beetling  rocks,  and  tread  out  the  quahog  from  its  muddy 
bed.  His  old  men  still  linger  on  the  sandy  beach,  and 
their  scalp-locks  float  wildly  in  the  fresh  sea-breeze. 
Pamanack  has  yet  a  home  : — ^but  Pequot — ^he  is  the 
last  of  his  race.  He  stands  on  the  high  hills  of 
Tashaway,  and  he  sees  no  smoke  but  that  from  the 
wigwams  of  the  Long  Knives.  He  moves  in  silence 
along  the  plains  of  Pequonnuck, — but  the  fences  of  the 
pale  faces  obstruct  his  progress.  His  canoe  dances  at 
the  side  of  the  dripping  rocks, — but  the  cheating  white 
men  paddle  up  to  his  side.  His  feet  sink  in  the 
ploughed  field, — ^but  it  is  not  the  corn  of  the  red  man. 
His  squaw  has  rolled  her  last  log,  and  lies  cold  in  her 
blanket.  His  young  men, — the  fire  water  and  fire 
dust  have  consumed  them.  Pequot  looks  around 
for  his  people — where  are  they  ?  The  black  snake 
and  muskrat  shoot  through  the  water  as  his  moccasin 
treads  the  swamp,  where  their  bones  lie,  deep  covered 
from  the  hate  of  their  enemies.  Pequot  is  the  last  of 
his  race  !  Pamanack  is  good,  but  the  heart  of  Pequot 
is  heavy.  He  cannot  drink  the  fire  water,  for  his 
young  men  have  sunk  from  its  deadly  poison,  as  the 
mist-wreath  in  the  midday  sun.  The  good  Moravians 
have  told  him  that  it  is  bad — and  Pequot  will  drink  no 
more — for  his  race  is  nearly  run.  Pequot  will  sit  on 
the  high  rocks  of  Sasco,  and  his  robe  shall  fall  from 
his  shoulders  as  his  broad  chest  waits  the  death-arrow 
of  the  Great  Spirit.     There  will  he  sit  and  smoke  in 


I  !l 


212 


LONG     ISLAND     SOUND. 


silence  as  he  looks  down  upon  the  deserted  hunting- 
grounds  of  his  fathers.  Pequot's  heart  is  heavy,—- 
Pequot  will  not  drink."  As  he  finished  the  last  words, 
he  abruptly  turned,  and  was  soon  far  distant  on  the 
sands,  moving  towards  the  high  hill  of  which  he  had 
spoken.  The  Great  Spirit  was  kind  to  him,  for  a  few 
years  after  he  was  found  stark  and  stiff,  frozen  to 
death  on  the  very  rocks  to  which  he  had  alluded.  As 
for  old  Pamanack,  hb  did  not  appear  to  hold  the  fire 
water  in  such  utter  abhorrence ;  for,  taking  a  long  swig 
at  the  bottle,  his  eye  following  the  retiring  form  of  the 
Pequot,  he  slowly  muttered,  "  Nigger  drink — white 
man  drink — why  no  Indian  drink  too  ? " 

But  the  Sound !  the  Sound  !  Oh !  how  many  de- 
lightful reminiscences  does  the  name  bring  to  my  re- 
collection. The  Sound !  with  its  white  sand  banks, 
and  its  wooded  shores — ^its  far  broad  bosom,  covered 
with  fleets  of  sails  scudding  along  in  the  swift  breeze 
in  the  open  day,  and  its  dark  waves  rolling  and  sweep- 
ing in  whole  streams  of  phosphorescent  fire  from  their 
plunging  bows  as  they  dash  through  it  in  the  darkness 
of  midnight.  The  Sound !  redolent  with  military  story. 
The  Sound !  overflowing  with  supernatural  legend  and 
antiquated  history.  Oh!  reader,  if  you  had  been 
cruising  along  its  shores  from  infancy,  as  I  have, 
if  you  had  grown  up  among  its  legends,  and  luxuriated 
in  its  wild  associations, — if  you  had  spent  whole  days 
on  its  broad  sand  beaches,  watching  the  gulls  as  they 


LONG     ISLAND     SOUND. 


213 


sailed  above  you,  or  the  snipe  as  they  ran  along  on  the 
smooth  hard  flats, — if  you  had  lain  on  the  white  frozen 
snows  on  its  shore  in  the  still  nights ^.of  mid-winter, 
your  gun  by  your  side,  gazing  till  your  soul  was  lost  in 
the  blue  spangled  vault,  as  it  hung  in  serene  and  tran- 
quil grandeur  above  you,  your  mind,  in  unconscious 
adoration,  breathing  whole  volumes  of  gratitude  and 
admiration  to  the  great  God  that  gave  you  faculties  to 
enjoy  its  sublimity ;  and  in  the  stillness,  unbroken  save 
by  the  cry  of  the  loon  as  he  raised  himself  from  the 
smooth  water,  seen  in  every  sail  moving  in  silence 
between  you  and  the  horizon  the  "  Phantom  Ship,"  or 
some  daring  bucaneer,  and  in  every  distant  splash  heard 
a  deed  of  darkness  and  mystery,  then  could  you  enter 
into  my  feelings.  • 

Oh !  to  me  its  black  rocks  and  promontories 
and  islands,  are  as  familiar  as  the  faces  of  a 
family.  Are  there  not  the  "Brothers,"  unnatural 
that  they  are,  who,  living  centuries  together,  never  to 
one  another  have  as  yet  spoken  a  kindly  word, — and 
the  great  savage  '*  Executioners,"  and  "  Throgs,"  and 
**  Sands,"  and  "  Etons,"  all  throwing  hospitable  lights 
from  their  high  beacon  towers,  far  forward,  to  guide  the 
wandering  mariner;  and  the  "Devil's  Stepping-stones,'* 
o'er  which  he  bounded  when  driven  from  Connecticut ; 
and  the  great  rocks  too,  inside  of  Flushing  bay  on 
which  he  descended,  shivering  them  from  top  to  bot- 
tom as  he  fell.  And  are  there  not  the  « Norwalk 
Islands,"  with  their   pines.-m"Qld  Sasco,"  with  her 


I 


214 


LONG     I8LA'     D     SOUND* 


rocks, — "  Fairweather,"  with  the  wild  bird's  eggs  deep 
buried  in  her  sands, — and  the  far-famed  fishing-banks 
off  the  "  Middle  ground."    Ay  !  and  is  it  not  from  the 
fierce  boiling  whirlpools  of  the  "  Gate  "  ♦*  to  Gardi- 
ners,'*  and  the  lone  beacon  tower  of  "  Old  Montaukett," 
one  continuous  ground  of  thrilling  lore  and  bold  adven- 
ture.    In  her  waters  the  "  Fire  ship'*  glared  amid  the 
darkness,  her   phantom  crew,   like   red  hot  statues, 
standing  at  their  quarters,  as  rushing  onwards,  in  the 
fdrious   storm,   she  passed  the   shuddering   mariner, 
leaving,    comet  like,  long  streams   of  flame  behind. 
Beneath  her  sands  the  red-shirted  bucaneers  did  hide 
their   ill-gotten,  blood-bespotted  treasure.     Ay !    and 
'twas  on  her  broad  bosom  that,  with  iron-seared  con- 
science sailed  that  pirate,  fierce  and  bold,  old  Robert 
Kidd ;    and  to  this  very  day  his  golden  hoards,  with 
magic  mark  nnd  sign,  still  crowd  her  wooded  shores. 
Hah  !  ha  !  how,  were  he  waking,  old  Scipio's  eyes 
would  upward  roll  their  whites,  if  he  did  but  hear  that 
name  so  dread  and  grim.     If,  from  very  eagerness, 
he  could  utter  forth  his  words,  he  would  give  whole 
chapters — ay — one  from  his  own  family  history — for 
Kidd's  men   caught  old  Cudjoe,   his  great  ancestor,; 
clamming  on  the  beach  off  Sasco,  and  without  more 
ado  carried  him  aboard.    As  the  old  negro  was  sulky* 
they  tumbled  his  well-filled  basket  into  the  galley's 
tank,  and  incontinently  were  about  to  run  him  up  to 
dangle  at  their  long  yard-arm,  when  Kidd,  who  was 


LONG    ISLAND    SOUND. 


21G 


taking  his  morning  *'  drink  of  tobacco  "  on  his  poop, 
roared  out,  in  voice  of  thunder,  **  Ho  !  Scroggs — boat- 
swain— dost  hang  a  black- a -moor  at  my  yard-arm, 
where  so  many  gentlemen  have  danced  on  nothing  7 — 
In  the  foul  devil's  name,  scuttle  the  goggled-eyed  fiend 
to  the  sharks  overboard,'* — and  overboard  he  went,  but 
diving  like  a  duck,  he  escaped  their  firelocks'  quick 
discharge,  and  reached  the  shore  in  safety. 

Ay  !  and  his  deep-buried  treasures  !  Where  went 
the  gold  dust  from  the  coast  of  Guinea  ? — the  gems 
from  Madagascar  ? — where  the  dollars  and  doubloons 
pirated  from  the  Spanish  galleons  ? — the  broken  plate 
and  crucifixes  from  the  shores  of  Panama  ? — and  where 
the  good  yellow  gold,  stamped  with  the  visage  of  his 
most  gracious  majesty? — where !  where,  but  on  the 
haunted  borders  of  this  very  Sound.  Why,  the  very 
school-boys,  playing  in  the  woods  upon  its  shores,  know 
when  the  earth  doth  hollow  sound  beneath  their  feet, 
that  Kidd's  treasure  's  buried  there.  Do  they  disturb 
it  1  No — not  they — they  know  too  well  the  fierce  and 
restless  spirit  that  guards  the  iron  pot.  Didst  ever 
hear  the  brave  old  ballad — •*  As  he  saWd,  as  he  saiVd  ?" 
It's  a  glorious  old  ballad — it's  a  true  old  ballad — and  a 
time-honoured  old  ballad — it  gives  his  veritable  history. 
It  has  been  printed  in  black  letter,  and  sung  time 
out  of  mind.  It  has  been  chanted  by  the  old  tars  in 
sultry  calms  of  the  tropics,  and  the  greasy  whalers 
have  kept  time  to  it  over  their  trying  kettles  on  the 


216 


LONG     ISLAND    SOUND. 


smooth  Pacific.  It  has  been  sung  amid  the  icebergs  of 
Greenland,  and  heard  on  the  coast  of  New  Holland ; 
the  spicy  breezes  of  Ceylon  have  borne  it  among  the 
sleeping  tigers  in  their  jungles,  and  the  Hottentots  have 
pulled  tighter  their  breech-cloths  as  they  have  listened 
to  its  tones.  The  Chinese,  and  the  Turks,  and  the 
Dutchmen,  and  the  Danes,  and  every  thing  human 
within  the  smell  of  salt  water,  have  heard  it, — ay  !  and 
that  too  in  the  rich  manly  tones  of  the  English  and 
American  sailors.  Ho !  Scip ! — wake  from  out  thy 
corner,  and  give  us  the  old  ballad.  Shades  of  red- 
capped  bucaneers ! — fierce  negro  slavers  ! — spirits  of 
the  gallant  men  who  fought  the  British  on  her  shores  t 
— desperate  old  Kidd  in  person ! — we  conjure  you — 
we  conjure  you — arise  and  hover  around  us,  whilst  we 
chaunt  the  lay.  Ho  !  Scipio  ! — the  old  ballad,  i^;  it 
stood  smoke-blacked,  and  grimed  upon  thy  cabin's 
walls — ay !  that  is  it — and  in  tones  which  chimed 
well  in  unison  with  the  dreary  storm  and  howling  blast 
without. 


"YE  LAMENTABLE  BALLAD,  AND  Yb  TRUE  HISTORIE 
OF  CAPTAINE  ROBERT  KIDD,  WHO  WAS  HANGED 
IN  CHAINS  AT  EXECUTION  DOCK,  FOR  PIRACY 
AND  MURDER  ON  Ye  HIGH  SEAS." 


He  oalltth  upon 
thtcapuiiMi 


He  ilaleth  hU  name 
and  acknowlodgetb 
hi*  wickednew: 


HebmnthvTiinai 
to  the  good  couiuel 
of  hi* parent*: 


Heciirwlh  hie  fa> 
ther  and  hii  molhor 
dear: 


And  blaiphemetli 
acaintlGod: 


He    burielh     the 
tiood  Book  in  tlw 
It 


And  murdereib 
William  Moore: 


You  captains  bold  and  brave,  hear  our  cries,  hear  our 
cries, 
You  captains  bold  and  brave,  hear  our  cries, 
You  captains  brave  and  bold,  tho'  you  seem  uncon- 
iroU'd, 
Don't  for  the  sake  of  gold  lose  your  souls,  lose  your 
souls. 
Don't  for  the  sake  of  gold  lose  your  souls. 

My  name  was  Robert  Kidd,  when  I  sail'd,  when  I 
sail'd, 

My  name  was  Robert  Kidd,  when  I  sail'd, 
My  name  was  Robert  Kidd,  God's  laws  I  did  forbid, 

And  so  wickedly  I  did,  when  I  sail'd. 

My  parents  taught  me  well,  when  I  sail'd,   when  1 
sail'd. 

My  parents  taught  me  well,  when  I  sail'd, 
My  parents  taught  me  well  to  shun  the  gates  of  hell, 

But  agamst  them  I  rebell'd  when  I  sail'd. 

I  cursed  my  father  dear,  when  I  sail'd,  when  I  sail'd, 
I  cursed  my  father  dear,  when  I  sail'd, 

I  cursed  my  fathe ;  dear  and  her  that  did  me  bear. 
And  so  wickedly  did  swear,  when  I  sail'd. 

I  made  a  solemn  vow  when  I  sail'd,  when  I  sail'd, 

I  made  a  solemn  vow  when  I  sail'd, 
I  made  a  solemn  vow,  to  God  I  would  not  bow, 

Nor  myself  one  prayer  allow,  as  I  sail'd. 

I'd  a  Bible  in  my  hand  when  I  sail'd,  when  I  sail'd, 

I'd  a  Bible  in  my  hand  when  I  sail'd, 
I'd  a  Bible  in  my  hand  by  my  father's  great  command, 

And  I  sunk  it  in  the  sand,  when  I  sail'd. 

I  murdered  William  Moore,  as  I  sail'd,  as  I  sail'd, 

I  murdered  William  Moore,  as  I  sail'd, 
I  murdnred  William  Moore,  and  left  him  in  his  gore, 
Is^ot  many  leagues  from  shore  as  I  sail'd. 


318 


And  alio  cruelly 
killalb  Um  f  uniiw. 


Hto  mat*,  Mng 
•boni  lo  die,  repent- 
•Ih  aiMl  wnrnelli  hUn 
ia  hie  omwr. 


LAMENTABLE      BALLAD 


He  falleth  liek, 
•nd  proiitiielh  re- 
pentance, but  forget- 
Uth  hia  Towa. 


He  aieereth  thro' 
Long  Inland  and 
other  So  uikia. 


He  chaaeth  three 
ahipa  of  France. 


And    alio    three 
ihipi  of  Spain. 


And  bein^  cruel  still,  as  I  sail'd,  as  I  saii'd, 

And  being  cruel  still,  aa  I  sail'd, 
*-  '  '"^ing  cruel  still,  my  gunner  I  did  kill, 

his  precious  blood  did  spill,  as  I  sail'd. 


And  bei 
And 


My  mate  was  sirk  and  died  aa  I  sail'd,  as  I  sail'd, 

My  mate  was  sick  and  died  as  I  sail'd, 
My  male  was  sick  and  died,  which  me  much  terrified^ 

When  he  called  mo  to  his  ^>edside  as  I  sail'd. 

And  unto  me  he  did  say,  see  me  die,  see  me  die, 

And  unto  me  did  say  see  ine  die, 
And  unto  me  did  say,  take  warning  now  by  me, 

There  comes  a  reckoning  day,  you  must  die. 

You  cannot  then  withstand,  when  you  die,  when  you 
die. 
You  cannot  then  withstand  when  you  die. 
You  cannot  then  withstand  the  judgments  of  God's 
hand, 
But  bound  then  in  iron  bands,  you  must  die. 

I  was  sick  and  nigh  to  death,  as  I  sail'd,  as  I  sail'd, 
I  was  sick  and  nigh  to  death  as  I  sail'd. 

And  I  was  sick  and  nigb  ro  death,  and  I  vowed  at 
every  breath 
To  walk  in  wisdom's  ways  as  I  sail'd. 

I  thought  I  was  updone  as  I  sail'd,  as  I  sail'd, 

I  thought  I  was  undone  as  I  sail'd, 
I  thought  I  was  undone  and  my  wicked  glass  had  run. 

But  health  did  soon  return  as  I  sail'd. 

My  repentance  lasted  not,  as  I  sail'd,  as  I  sail'd, 

My  repentance  lasted  not,  as  I  sail'd, 
My  repentance  lasted  not,  my  vows  I  soon  forgot. 

Damnation's  my  just  lot,  as  I  sail'd. 

I  steer'd  from  Sound  to  Sound,  as  I  sail'd,  as  I  sail'd, 
I  sieer'd  from  Sound  to  Sound,  as  I  sail'd, 

1  steer'd  from  Sound  to  Sound,  and  many  ships  I  found 
And  most  of  them  I  burn'd  as  I  sail'd. 

I  spy'd  three  ships  from  France,  as  I  sail'tj,  as  I  sail'd, 
I  spy'd  three  ships  from  France,  as  I  sail'd' 

I  spy'd  three  ships  from  France,  to  them  I  did.advance, 
And  took  them  all  by  chance,  as  I  sail'd. 

I  spy'd  three  ships  of  Spain,  as  I  sail'd,  as  I  sail'd, 
I  spy'd  three  ships  of  Spain  as  I  sail'd, 

I  spy'd  three  ships  of  Spain,  I  fired  on  them  amaiB» 
Till  most  of  them  were  slain,  as  I  sail'd. 


OF    CAPT4IN     KIDD 


210 


HabouttOionito 

ttMWiN. 


H«  ipjrtlh  rourtMn 
thip*  in  punult,  wid 
■arr«iidw«th> 


lie  k](kth  fkn- 
wtll  to  the  leai,  aixl 
Um  racing  ouun. 


He  eshorteth  (h« 
70UDg  aiid  old  to 
taktt  couuael  from 
hiifaMt 


And  declnreth  that 
h«  mnit  go  to  bcU, 
■lid  be  piiiiiibad  for 
hU  wlckedueaai 


rd  ninety  bam  of  gold,  as  I  sail'd,  as  I  sail'd, 

I'd  ninety  hum  of  sold,  as  I  Hail'd, 
I'd  ninety  bars  of  gold,  and  dollars  manifold, 

With  rich  s  uncontroU'd,  as  I  sail'd. 

Then  fourteen  ships  I  saw,  as  I  sail'd,  as  I  sail'd, 

Then  fourteen  ships  I  saw  as  1  sail'd, 
Then  fourteen  ships  I  saw  and  brave  men  they  are, 

Ah !  they  were  too  #uch  forme  as  1  sail'd. 

Thus  bcin^  overtaken  at  last,  I  must  die,  I  must  die. 
Thus  being  o'ertaken  at  last,  I  mtist  die, 

Thus  being  o'ertaken  at  last,  and  into  prison  cast, 
And  sentence  being  pass'd,  I  must  die. 

Farewell  the  ragin{^  sea,  I  must  die,  I  must  die, 

Farewell  the  raging  main,  I  must  die, 
Farewell  the  raging  main,  to  Turkey,  France,  and 
Spain, 

I  ne'er  shall  see  you  again,  I  must  die. 

To  Newgate  now  I'm  cast,  and  must  die,  and  must  dici 
To  Newgate  now  I'm  cast,  and  must  die. 

To  Newgate  I  am  cast,  with  a  sad  and  heavy  heart, 
To  receive  my  just  desert,  I  must  die. 

To  Execution  Dock  I  must  go,  I  must  go, 

To  Execution  Dock  I  must  go, 
To  Execution  Dock  will  manv  thousands  flock. 

But  I  must  bear  the  shock,  I  must  die. 

Come  all  you  young  and  old,  see  me  die,  see  me  die, 

Come  all  young  and  old,  see  me  die. 
Come  all  you  young  and  old,  you're  welcome  to  my 
gold. 

For  by  it  I've  lost  my  soul,  and  must  die. 

Take  warning  now  by  me,  for  I  must  die,  for  I  must 
die, 
Take  warning  now  by  me,  for  I  must  die, 

Take  warning  now  by  me,  and  shun  bad  company. 
Lest  you  come  to  hell  with  me,  for  I  must  die. 
Lest  you  come  to  hell  with  me,  for  I  must  die. 


GREEN-WOOD  CEMETERY. 


[To  the  untiring  exertions  of  Major  D.  B.  Douglass,  Messrs. 
Joseph  A.  Perry,  Henry  E.  Pierrepont,  Gerrit  G.  Van  Wagenen, 
and  a  few  other  liberal  minded  gentlemen,  the  public  are  indebted 
for  the  design  and  completion  of  this  beautiful  place  of  repose 
for  the  dead.  It  is  anticipated  that  ten  miles  of  avenue  will  be 
completed  during  the  coming  summer,  and  when  the  whole  is 
laid  out,  according  to  the  proposed  plan,  that  there  will  be  fif. 
teen  miles  of  picturesque  road  within  its  precincts.  Part  of  the 
battle  of  Long  Island  in  the  Revolution  was  fought  upon  its 
grounds,  and  it  is  intended  at  no  distant  day,  to  remove  the  re. 
mains  of  those  that  perished  in  the  Prison  Ships  to  the  Cemetery, 
where  they  will  sleep  undisturbed  beneath  an  appropriate  menu* 
ment.  The  views  from  Mount  Washington,  and  other  eminences, 
within  its  precincts,  embrace  the  entire  bay  and  harbour  of  New- 
York,  with  their  islands  and  forts :  the  cities  of  New  York  and 
Brooklyn ;  the  shores  of  the  North  and  East  Rivers ;  New- Jersey, 
Staten  Island,  the  Quarantine ;  unnumbered  towns  and  villages 
4Bprinkled  over  the  wide  expanse  of  the  surrounding  country,  and 
the  margin  of  the  broad  Atlantic,  from  Sandy  Hook,  to  a  dis- 
tance  far  beyond  the  Rockaway  Pavilion.  The  fine  old  forest 
which  covers  the  greater  part  of  the  grounds,  shrouding  and  almost 
concealing  from  sight,  several  beautiful  lakes  and  sheets  of 
water  suggested  the  name,  with  which  it  has  been  consecrated, 
the  Green. Wood  Cemetery.] 

Where,    then,    is  death  ! — and  my  own  voice 
startled  me  from  my  reverie  as,  leaning  on  my  saddle- 


OREEN-WOOD     CEMETERY. 


221 


• 


bow  on  the  summit  of  Mount  Washington  in  the  Green- 
wood  Cemetery,  I  asked — Where,  then,  is  death!  The 
golden  sun  of  a  delicious  summer's  afternoon  was 
streaming  o'er  the  undulating  hills  of  Staten  Island 
lighting  more  brilliantly  the  snow-white  villas  and 
emerald  lawns : — the  Lazaretto— 'its  fleet  gay  with  the 
flags  of  all  the  nations,  was  nestling  like  a  fairy  city  at 
its  feet : — the  uuoie  bay  before  me  was  one  great  pol- 
ished mirror — motionless  vessels  with  white  sails 
and  drooping  pennants,  resting  on  its  surface,  like 
souls  upon  the  ocean  of  Eternity,  and  every  thing 
around  was  bright  and  still  and  beautiful  as  I  asked 
myself  the  question — WJiere,  then,  is  death! 

The  islands  with  their  military  works  by  calm  and 
motionless  upon  the  waters — the  grim  artillery,  like 
sleeping  tigers  crouched  upon  the  ramparts  and  the 
castle's  walls — but  the  glistening  of  the  sentry's  pol- 
ished musket,  and  the  sudden  clamorous  roll  of  drums 
showed  me,  that — not  there  was  death, 

I  turned. — The  great  fierce  city  extending  as  far  as 
eye  could  reach — the  sky  fretted  with  her  turrets  and 
her  spires — her  thousand  smokes  rising  and  minglii^g 
with  the  o'erhanging  clouds ; — as  she  rose  above  her 
bed  of  waters,  with  hoarse  continuous  roar,  cried  to 
me — '*  Look  not  her  ,  not  here— for  death  /"  Her 
sister  city,  with  her  towers  and  cupolas — ^her  grassy 
esplanades  surmounted  with  verdant  trees  and  far 
extending  colonnades  embowered  in  shrubbery,— frf»ii 


222 


ORESN-WOOD     CEMETERT. 


her  high  terraced  walls,  re-echoed  the  hollow  roar— * 
«  Not  here  for  death !" 

The  island  lay  extended  far  before  me — its  farms 
and  towns — its  modest  spires — its  granaries — its  ver- 
dant meadows — its  rich  cultivated  fields — its  woods 
— its  lawns — all  wrapped  in  silence,  but  still  its  whis- 
per softly  reached  me  —  "  Not  here  —  not  here  —  is 
death  /" — E'en  the  great  distant  ocean,  closed  only 
from  my  view  by  the  far-reaching  horizon,  in  sullen 
continuous  murmurs  moaned — "  Not  here  is  death  /" 

Where,  then,  I  cried — where,  then,  is  death  ?  I 
looked  above  me,  and  the  blue  vault  hung  pure  and 
motionless — light  fleecy  clouds  like  angels  on  their 
journeys,  alone  resting  on  its  cerulean  tint, — around, 
the  evening  breeze  played  calm  and  gently, — and  be- 
neath the  flowers  and  leaves  were  quivering  with  de- 
light, while  the  incessant  hum  of  insect  life,  arising 
from  the  earth  with  ceaseless  voice,  still  cried — "  No — 
no — not  here  is  death!" 

Ah !  said  I,  this  beautiful  world  shall  be  forever,  and 
there  is — there  is  no  death — but  even  as  I  spoke,  a 
warning  voice  struck  with  deep  solemnity  upon  my 
startled  ear, — **  Man  that  is  born  of  woman,  hath  but 
a  short  time  to  live,  and  is  full  of  misery.  He  cometh 
up,  and  is  cut  down  like  a  flower ;  he  fleeth  as  it  were 
a  shadow,  and  never  continueth  in  one  stay." — And  as 
I  turned,  the  funeral  procession — its  minister  and  its 
mourners  passed  onward  in  their  journey  with  the  si< 
lent  dead. 


OREEN-WOOD    G E M E T E R  T  . 


228 


I  looked  after  the  retiring  group,  and  again  from 
beyond  the  coppice  which  intervened,  heard  ris- 
ing in  the  same  deep  solemn  tones, — "  Write,  from 
henceforth,  blessed  are  the  dead  who  die  in  the  Lord ; 
even  so  saiththe  spirit,  for  they  rest  from  their  labours," 
— and  my  soul  cowered  within  itself  like  a  guilty 
thing,  as  it  said — Amen. 

I  look'ed  again  upon  the  scene  before  me  and  sigh- 
ed,— e'en  such  is  human  reason.  That  gorgeous 
sun  shall  set — the  gay  villas  and  verdant  lawns, — 
the  crowded  shipping, — the  beautiful  bay  with  all 
that  rest  upon  its  bosom,  shall  soon  be  wrapt  in  dark- 
ness,— the  gleaming  watch-light  disappear  from  yon 
tall  battlement,  as  the  bugle  sounds  its  warning  note, 
— the  great  fierce  city  be  stilled  in  silence,  while  the 
beating  hearts  within  her  midnight  shroud,  like  sec- 
onds, answer  her  tolling  bells  upon  the  dial  of  eter- 
nity,— and  the  insect  myriads — the  flowers  and  leaves 
— ay ! — ^the  great  heavens  themselves,  shall  from  the 
darkness  cry — **  This  is  the  portraiture  of  death P^ — 
for  the  darkness  and  the  silence  are  all  that  man  can 
realize  of  death. 

The  hardy  Northman  with  trembling  finger  points  to 
the  mouldering  frame  work  of  humanity,  and  shudders 
as  he  cries — "  Lo  !  there  is  death  /" — and  the  polished 
Greek  smiles  delightedly  on  the  faultless  statue  of  the 
lovely  woman  with  the  infant  sleeping  on  her  breast, 
as  .he  also  cries — ♦'  Lo !  there  is  death  /" — ^yet  both 
alike  with  reverence  do  lay  their  final  oflfering  before 


224 


ORBEBN-WOOD     CEMETERY* 


his  gloomy  shrine. — l*he  squahd  Esquimaux  scoops 
out  the  cavern  in  the  never  mehing  snows,  for  the  fro* 
zen  form  whose  conflicts  with  the  grizzly  bear  and 
shuddering  cold  are  done — and  the  mild  Hindoo,  with 
affection,  feeds  the  funeral  pyre,  and  as  the  fragrant 
column  does  arise,  cries — '*  Soul  of  my  brother — ^im- 
mortal soul,  ascend  !*' — The  r3d  man,  in  the  far  distant 
prairie's  lonely  wilds,  pillows  the  head  of  the 'warrior- 
chief  upon  his  slain  desert  steed  within  its  mound, 
while  the  bronzed  pioneei*,  throwing  aside  his  axe  and 
rifle,  hastily  dashes  away  the  tear  as  he  inhumes  be- 
neath its  flowery  bed  his  scar-marked  comrade's  form. 

The  secluded  village  bamlet,  with  pious  care,*  within 
the  quiet  grove,  encloses  a  resting-place  for  its  silent 
few,  disappearing  at  long  intervals ; — and  here  those 
great  living  cities  have  chosen  this  silent  city  for  their 
dead,  falling  like  the  forest  leaves  in  autumn. 

For  the  great  army,  who  must  ere  long,  march  forth 
to  ground  their  arms  before  the  grim  and  ghastly  Con- 
queror, 'twere  difHcult  to  find  more  beautiful  and 
lovely  resting  place.  E'en  the  sad  mourner  lingers 
as  he  beholds  its  broad  and  lovely  lawns,  stretched 
out  in  calm  serenity  before  him ;— its  sylvan  waters 
in  their  glassy  stillness ;  its  antique  elms,  arching  with 
extended  branches  the  long  secluded  lanes  ;  its  deep 
romantic  glena  *  its  rolling  mounds,  and  all  its  varied 
scenery,  ere  \.  ^th  a  softened  sadness  he  turns  him  to 
his  desolate  and  melancholy  home.    Oh !  spirits  of 


ORBZN-WOOD     OEMITERT 


325 


our  departed  ones  !  We  know  that  you  have  gone 
forth  from  your  human  habitations,  and  that  we  shall 
behold  your  loved  forms  no  more  forever.  Oh! 
therefore  will  we  lay  your  deserted  temples  within 
this  consecrated  ground,  and,  in  imagination,  fondly 
see  you  sleeping  still  in  tranquillity  beneath  its  green 
and  silent  sward. 

But  lo !  where  upon  the  broad  and  verdant  lawui 
the  loose  clods  and  dark  black  mould  heaped  care- 
lessly aside,  the  narrow  pit  awaits,  ere  it  close  again 
from  light,  its  tenant  in  his  dark  and  narrow  house. 
The  sorrowing  group  collect  around,  and  the  pall 
slowly'  drawn  aside,  one  moment  more  exhibits  to 
the  loved  ones,  the  pallid  countenance  of  him  about 
to  be  hidden  from  their  sight  forever.  The  weeping 
widow,  in  her  dark  habiliments,  leans  upon  the  arm 
of  the  stern,  sad  brother,  her  little  ones  clinging  to 
her  raiment  in  mingled  awe  and  admiration  of  the 
scene  before  them.  "  Ashes  to  ashes" — ^how  she 
writhes  in  anguish,  as  the  heavy  clods  fall  with  hollow 
unpitying  jar  upon  the  coffin  lid — ^how  like  a  lifeless 
thing  she  hangs  upon  the  supporting  arm  in  which 
her  countenance  is  buried  in  agony  unutterable  ;  and 
see  the  little  ones,  their  faces  streaming  with  won- 
dering tears,  clasping  her  hands ;  how  in  happy  igno- 
rance, they  innocently,  with  fond  endearing  names, 
still  call  upon  him  to  arise. 

But  the  narrow  grave  is  filled — ^the  mourning 
15 


d26 


GREENWOOD     CEMETERY. 


hi 


group  have  gone — the  evening  shadows  fall — ^the  de- 
clining sun  sinks  beneath  Lis  gorgeous  bed  in  the 
horizon,  and  in  the  thickening  twilight,  the  dead  lies* 
in  his  mound — alone.  The  night  advances — the  stars 
arise,  and  the  joyous  constellations  roll  high  onward 
in  their  majestic  journeys  in  the  o'erhanging  heavens 
— but  beneath — the  tenant  of  the  fresh  filled  grave, 
lies  motionless  and  still.  The  morning  sun  appears, 
the  dew,  like  diamonds,  glitters  on  every  leaf  and 
blade  of  grass — the  birds  joyously  carol,  and  the  merry 
lark,  upon  the  very  mound  itself,  sends  forth  his  cheer- 
ful note — but  all  is  hushed,  in  silence,  to  the  tenant 
who  in  his  unbroken  slumber  sleeps  within.  The 
Autumn  comes,  and  the  falling  leaves  whirl  with- 
ered from  the  tree  tops,  and  rustle  in  the  wind^ 
the  Winter,  and  the  smooth  broad  plain  lies  covered 
with  its  pure  and  spotless  cloak  of  driven  snow,  and 
the  lowly  mound  is  hid  from  sight,  and  shows  not,  in 
the  broad  midday  sun,  nor  e'en  at  midnight,  when  the 
silver  moon  sailing  ouwards  in  her  chaste  journey 
turns  the  icicles  into  glittering  gems,  on  the  o'erhang- 
ing branches  as  they  bend  protectingly  towards  it. 
The  Spring  breathes  warmly,  and  the  little  mound 
lies  green  again — and  now  the  mother  bending  o'er  it, 
lifts  the  rose  and  twines  the  myrtle,  while  the  little 
ones  in  joyous  glee  from  the  surrounding  meadows, 
bring  the  wild  flowers  and  scatter  them  in  unison  upon 


OREEN-WOOD  CEMETERY. 


227 


its  borders.     Oh  !  then  ! — were  consciousness  within 
— then  would  the  glad  tenant  smile. 

But  let  hinii  whose    tears  as  yet  fall  not  for   any 

S~  dear  one  beneath  its  sod,  ascend  again  with  me  the 

Mount,  and  with  retrospective  gaze  behold  the  living 
drama,  which  has  passed  before  it.  The  great  world 
around — the  stage — lies  still  the  same  ;  but  the  actors, 
all — all  have  passed  onwards  to  their  final  rest.  Into 
';;he  still  gleaming  past  bend  your  attentive  gaze. 
Lo,  the  features  of  the  scenery  are  still  the  same 
— the  bay's  unruffled  bosom,  and  the  islands ;  but 
no  sail  now  floats  upon  its  surface,  no  gilded 
spires  in  the  distance  loom,  nor  does  the  busy  hum  of 
man  reach  us,  as  listening  we  stand — nought  we  see 
but  the  far  forest  covering  the  main  and  islands,  even 
to  the  waters.  The  coward  wolf  howls  in  yon  distant 
glen — the  partridge  drums  upon  the  tree  tops — and  the 
graceful  deer  e'en  at  our  side;.'  browses  in  conscious 
safety.  Yon  light  dot  moving  Tjpon  the  water? — 'tis 
the  painted  Indian  paddling  his  canoe.  Yon  smoke 
curling  on  the  shore  beneath  us  1 — it  is  the  Indian's 
wigwam — The  joyous  laugh  arising  among  the  trees  ? 
It  is  his  squaw  and  black  eyed  children — the  Indian 
reigns  the  lord — r«igns  free  and  uncontrolled. 

But  look  again  upon  the  waters  floats  a  huge  and 
clumsy  galliot — its  gay  and  gaudy  streamers  flaunting 
in  the  breeze  ;  how  the  poor  savages  congregated  on 
yonder  point,  gaze  in  wonder  as  it  passes— 'tis  the  Great 


<■' 


228 


GREEN-WOOD     CEMETERY. 


;    I 


Spirit,  and  the  quaint  figure  with  the  plumed  hat,  and 
scarlet  hose  glistening  with  countless  buttons,  on  its 
poop — some  demi-god  !— and  as  she  onward  moves, 
behold  the  weather-worn  seamen's  faces  in  her  rigging, 
how  anxiously  they  return  the  gaze. — The  forest  chil- 
dren muster  courage — they  follow  in  their  light  canoes 
—The  galliot  nears  the  Manahattoes — they  ascend 
her  sides — hawks,  bells  and  rings,  and  beads,  and  the 
hot  strong  drink  are  theirs  ; — their  land — it  is  the  white 
man's. — See  with  what  confidence  he  ensconces  him- 
self upon  the  island's  borders — in  his  grasp,  he  has 
the  fish— the  furs — the  game — the  poor  confiding 
Indian  gives  him  all — and — behold  the  embryo  city's 
fixed ! 

But  see !— Is  that  the  Dutch  boor's  cabin  at  our 
feet? — Is  that  the  Indian  seated  on  the  threshold, 
while  the  Dutchman  lolls  lazily  within! — Where — 
where  then  is  the  Indian's  wigwam? — gone  ! 

Look  up  again — a  stately  fleet  moves  o'er  the  bay,  in 
line  of  battle  drawn ;  the  military  music  loudly  sounds 
—dark  cannon  frown  from  within  the  gaping  ports,  and 
crews  with  lighted  matches  stand  prepared — they  near 
the  Manahattoes,  and — and — the  Orange  flag  descends 
— the  Dragon  and  St.  George  floats  from  the  flag-staff 
o'er  the  little  town.  Who  is  the  fair-haired  man  that 
drinks  with  the  Dutchman  at  his  cottage  door,  while  the 
poor  Indian  stands  submissively  aside? — "It  is  the 


ORSEN-WOOD   CEMETERY. 


229 


Briton." — I  hear  the  laugh  of  youth — sure  His  the  In- 
dian's black  eyed  brood? — *'  'Tis  th*-   Englishman's  yel- 
low haired,  blue  eyed  children." — Alas  I  alas  !  poor 
forest  wanderer — nor  squaw — nor  child — nor  wigwanii  . 
shall  here  be  more  for  thee.     Farewell — farewell. 

The  little  town  swells  to  a  goodly  city — the  forests 
fall  around — the  farms  stretch  out  their  borders — wains 
creak  and  groan  with  harvest  wealth — ^lordly  shipping 
floats  on  the  rivers— the   fair  haired  race  increase — 
roads  mark  the   country — and  the  deer   and    game» 
scared,  fly  the  haunts  of  men. — Hah  ! — the  same  flag 
floats  not  at  the  Manahattoes ! — now,  'tis   Stars  and 
Stripes — See  ! — crowding  across  the   river  men   in 
dark  masses — cannon — muniments  of  war — in  boa^-s— 
on  rafts — in  desperate  haste.    Trenches  and  ramparts 
creep  like  serpents  on  the  earth — horsemen  scour  the 
country — divisions — regiments — take   position,   and 
stalwart  yeomen  hurrying  forward,  join  in  the  ranks 
of  Liberty  ! — Hear !  hear  the  wild  confusion — the  jar 
of  wheels — ^the  harsh  shrill  shriek  of  trumpets  and 
the  incessant  roll  of  drums — the  rattling  musketry-^ 
the  sudden  blaze  and  boom  of  cannon — it  is  the  roar 
of  battle — it  is  the  battle  field'— 'Hear  !  hear  the  dis- 
tant cry — "  St.  George  and  merry  England." — "  Our 
Country  and  Liberty." — Ah!  o'er  this  very  ground, 
the   conflict    passes — See  !  the  vengeful  Briton  pros- 
trate falls  beneath  the  deadly  rifle — while  the  yeomen 
masses  fade  beneath  the  howling  cannon  shot — ^and 


230 


OREEN-WOOD     CEMETERY. 


[1      I 

ji 
I 


: 


hark !  how  from  amid  the  sulphurous  cloud  the  wild 
"  hurrah"  drowns  e'en  the  dread  artillery. 

The  smoke  clouds  lazily  creep  from  off  the  surface 
—the  battle's  o'er  ai:d  the  red>cross  banner  floats 
again  upon  the  island  of  Manahattoes. — And  now 
again — the  Stripes  and  Stars  stream  gently  in  the 
breeze. 

The  past   is  gone — the   future   stands  before  us. 
Ay !  here  upon  this   very  spot,  once  rife  with  death» 
yonder    cities  shall  lay    their  slain  for   centuries  to 
come — their  slain,  falling  in  the  awful  contest  with  the 
stern  warrior,  against  whom  human  strength  is  nought, 
and  human  conflict  vain.     Years  shall  sweep  on  in 
steady  tide,  and  these  broad  fields  be  whitened  with 
countless  sepulchres — the  mounds,  covered  with  graves 
where  affection  (till  shall  plant  the  flower  and  trail 
the  vine — in  the  deep  valleys,  and  romantic  glens  to 
receive  their  ne'er  returning  tenants  ;  the  sculptured 
vaults  still  shall  roll  ope  their  marble  fronts — beneath 
^he  massive  pyramid's  firm*fixed  base,  the  Martyrs  of 
the  Prisons  find  their  final  resting-place — and  on  this 
spot  the  stately  column  shooting  high  in  air^  to  future 
generations  tell,  the  bloody  story  of  yon  battle-field. 

All  here  shall  rest; — the  old  man — his  silver  hairs 
in  quiet,  and  the  wailing  babe  in  sweet  repose — the 
strong  from  fierce  conflict  with  fiery  disease,  and 
bowing  submissively*  the  poor  pallid  invalid — the  old 


ORBEN-WOOD     CBMETERT. 


231 


—the  young— the  strong — the  beautiful— all— here  shall 
rest  in  deep  and  motionless  repose. 

Oh!  Being!— Infinite  and  Glorious  —  Unseen — 
shrouded  from  our  vision  in  the  vast  and  awful  mists 
of  immeasurable  Eternity — Creator — throned  in 
splendour  inconceivable,  mid  millions  and  countless 
myriads  of  worlds,  which  still  rushing  into  being  at 
thy  thought,  course  their  majestic  circles,  chiming 
in  obedient  grandeur  glorious  hymns  of  praise- 
God  of  Wisdom, — thou  that  hast  caused  the  ethereal 
spark  to  momentarily  light  frail  tenements  of  clay,— 
grant,  that  in  the  terrors  of  the  awful  Judgment,  they 
may  meet  the  splendours  of  the  opening  heavens  with 
steadfast  gaze,  and  relying  on  the  Redeemer's  media- 
tion, in  boundless  ecstacy,  still  cry — Where — Where 
THEN  IS  Death  ! 


i 


'^K^ 


' 


«! 


APPENDIX 


"     **  NioHT  Attack  on  Fobt  Erik 


-i: 


CONTENTS. 

Note  to  the  Resurkbctionists.— Ghost  in  the  Grave  Yard. 

"     "  Old  Kennedy,  No.  I.— Lienteilant  Somers. 

"     "  Old  Kennkdy,  No.  III.— "The  Parting  Blessing.*' 

«     <•  Old  Kennedy,  No.  IV.— Explosion  at  Craney  Island 

"     "  Hudson  Riveb.- Military  Academy  at  West-Point. 

The  Dying  Soldier. 

The  Officer's  Sabre. 

'  Detailed  Statement  of  the  Battle. 

Rainbow  of  the  Cataract. 

The  Day  after  the  Battle. 

The  two  Sergeants. 

Death  of  Captain  Hull. 

Scott's  Brigade. 

.Death  of  Captain  Spencer. 

"     "  Montreal.— Military  Insignia. 

"     "  Lake  Geoboe.— Attack  on  Fort  Ticonderoga. 

(  Crew  of  the  Essex  frigate. 
*'     "  Bass  Fishing.—  ^ 

(  Mutiny  on  board  the  Essex. 

"     "  Long  Island  Sound.— New-England  Traditions. 


"     "  Lundy'sLanb.— • 


APPENDIX. 


Note  to  the  Resurrectionists. — Ghost  in  thb  Grave 
Yard. — In  New-England,  most  of  the  burying-grounds  as 
they  are  called,  are  at  some  distance  from  the  villages,  and 
generally  neglected  and  rude  in  their  appearance,  frequently 
overgrown  with  wild,  dank  weeds,  and  surrounded  by  rough 
stone  walls. — Dr.  W.,  a  physician,  whose  extensive  practice 
gave  him  a  large  circuit  of  country  to  ride  over,  relates  that 
returning  late  one  night  from  visiting  a  patient  who  was 
dangerously  ill,  his  attention  was  attracted  by  a  human  figure 
clad  in  white,  perched  upon  the  top  of  the  stone  wall  of  one 
of  these  rustic  cemeteries. — The  moon  was  shining  cold  and 
clear,  and  he  drew  up  his  horse  for  a  moment,  and  gazed 
steadily  at  the  object,  supposing  that  he  was  labouring  under 
an  optical  illusion,  but  it  remained  immoveable  and  he  was 
convinced,  however  singular  the  position  and  the  hour,  that 
his  eyesight  had  not  deceived  him.  Being  a  man  of  strong 
nerves,  he  determined  to  examine  it,  whether  human  or  super- 
natural, more  closely,  and  leaping  his  horse  up  the  bank  of 
the  road  he  proceeded  along  the  side  of  the  fence  towards  the 
object.  It  remained  perfectly  motionless  until  he  came  oppo- 
site and  within  a  few  feet,  when  it  vanished  from  the  fence, 
and  in  another  instant,  with  a  piercing  shriek,  was  clinging 
round  his  neck  upon  the  horse. — This  was  too  much,  for 
even  the  Doctor's  philosophy,  and  relieving  himself  with  a 


236 


APPE  NDI X. 


violent  exertion  from  the  grasp,  he  flung  the  figure  from  him, 
and  putting  spurs  to  his  horse  galloped  into  the  village  at 
full  speed,  a  torrent  of  ghostly  lore  and  diablerie  pouring 
through  his  mind  as  he  dashed  along.  Arousing  the  occu- 
pants of  the  nearest  house,  they  returned  to  the  scene  of  the 
adventure,  where  they  found  the  object  of  his  terror, — a  poor 
female  maniac,  who  had  escaped  from  confinement  in  a  neigh- 
bouring alms-house,  wandering  among  the  tombs. 


Note  to  Old  Kennedy,  No.  I. — Capt.  Somers.*  —  The 
name  of  Somers,  the  twin  brother  in  arms  of  Decatur,  shines 
brightly  on  the  History  of  American  Naval  Warfare ;  and  the 
last  desperate  action  which  terminated  his  short  and  brilliant 
career  with  his  life,  is  stamped  in  colours  so  indelible,  that  no- 
thing but  the  destroying  finger  of  Time  can  efface  it  from 
its  pages.  Afler  severe  and  continued  fighting  before  Tripo- 
li, the  Turkish  flotilla  withdrew  within  the  mole,  and  could 
not  be  induced  to  venture  themselves  beyond  the  guns  of  the 
Tripolitan  Battery.  The  ketch  Intrepid  was  fitted  out  as  a 
fire-ship,  filled  to  the  decks  with  barrels  of  gunpowder,  shells, 
pitch,  and  other  combustible  materials ;  and  Capt.  Somers, 
with  a  volunteer  crew,  undertook  the  hazardous,  almost  des- 
perate, task,  ov  navigating  her,  in  the  darkness  of  night,  into 
the  middle  of  the  Turkish  flotilla,  when  the  train  was  to  be 
fired,  and  they  were  to  make  their  escape,  as  they  best  could 
in  her  boats. 


•  The  U.  S.  Brig  Somers,  in  which  the  late  daring  mutiny  was 
suppressed  by  the  prompt  and  decided  measures  of  Lt.  Alexander 
Slidell  McEenzie,  was  named  after  this  iisro  of  the  Tripolitan  war. 


▲  PPEN  DIX. 


237 


Lieutenants  Wadsworth  and  Israel  were  the  only  officers 
allowed  I  o  join  expedition,  which  was  comprised  of  a  small 
crew  of  picked  men.  The  Intrepid  was  escorted  as  far  aa 
was  prudent  by  three  vessels  of  the  squadron,  who  hove  to,  to 
avoid  suspicion,  and  to  be  ready  to  pick  up  the  boats  upon 
their  return :  the  Constitution,  under  easy  sail  in  the  offing. 

Many  a  brave  heart  could  almost  hear  its  own  pulsations 
in  those  vessels,  as  she  became  more  and  more  indistinct,  and 
gradually  disappeared  in  the  distance.    They  watched  for 
some  time  with  intense  anxiety,  when  p.  heavy  cannonade 
was  opened  from  the  Turkish  batteries,  which,  by  its  flashes, 
discovered  the  ketch  determinedly  progressing  on  her  deadly 
errand.    She  was  slowly  and  surely  making  for  the  entrance 
of  the  mole,  v/"  ~  the  whole  atmosphere  suddenly  blazed  as 
if  into  open  :.  .  v  :    the  mast  with  all  its  sails  shot  high  up 
in  the  air ;   shells  whizzed,  rocket  like,  exploding  in  every 
direction ;  a  deafening  roar  followed  and  all  sunk  again  into 
the  deepest  pitchy  darkness.  The  Americans  waited — waited 
—in  anxious — at  last  sickening  suspense.    Their  companions 
came    not — ^the  hours  rolled  on — no  boat  hailed — no  oar 
splashed  in  the  surrounding  darkness.    The  East  grew  grey 
with  the  dawn — ^the  sun  shone  brightly  above  the  horizon, 
nought  but  a  few  shattered  vessels  lying  near  tlie  shore— 
the  flotilla — the  batteries — and  the  minarets  of  Tripoli,  gild- 
ed by  the  morning  sunbeams,  met  their  gaze.    Those  noble 
spirits  had  written  their  history.     Whether  consigned  to 
eternity  by  a  shot  of  the  enemy,  prematurely  exploding  the 
magazine,  or  from  the  firing  of  the  train  by  their  own  hands, 
must  always  remain  untold  and  unknown. 


238 


APPENDIX. 


Note  to  Old  Kennedy.  No.  II T. — "  The  Parting  Bless- 
ing."— An  officer  of  the  Lawrence  engaged  in  this  desperate 
action  informed  the  writer,  that  he  observed,  in  the  latter 
part  of  the  battle,  the  cap  ain  of  one  of  the  guns,  who  was  a 
perfect  sailor,  and  iiarkable  for  his  neatness  and  fine  per- 
sonal appearance,  ineffectually  endeavouring  to  work  his  gun 
himself,  after  all  its  crew  had  fallen.  He  wasi^badly  w  unded 
by  a  grape  shot  in  the  leg ;  and  although  in  that  situation,  he 
was  supporting  himself  on  the  other,  while  he  struggled  at 
the  tackle  to  bring  the  piece  to  bear.  The  officer  told  him 
that  he  had  better  leave  the  gun,  and  join  one  of  the  others, 
or,  as  he  was  badly  wounded,  go  below.  "  No — no,  sir," — 
said  the  brave  tar, — "  I've  loaded  her,  and  if  I've  jot  to  go 
below,  it  shan't  be  before  I  give  'cm  a  parting  blessing  T* 
The  officer  then  himself  assisted  him  in  running  the  gun 
out  of  the  port.  The  sailor,  taking  a  good  and  deliberate 
aim,  discharged  her  into  the  British  ship,  and  then  dragged 
himself  down  to  the  cockpit,  fully  satisfied  with  the  parting 
compliment  that  he  had  paid  the  enemy.  General  Jackson, 
during  his  administration,  granted  the  man  a  pension. 


Note  to  Old  Kennedy.  No.  IT. — Explosion  at  Cranbt 
Island. — One  of  the  oldest  of  the  surgeons  tiow  in  the  navy, 
who  was  present  when  the  British  were  defeated  in  their 
attempt  to  cut  out  the  Constellation  at  Craney's  Island,  in 
Hampton  Roads,  in  the  last  war,  relates  the  following 
anecdote. 

The  fire  of  the  Americans  was  so  hciavy,  that  the  British 
flotilla  was  soon  obliged  to  retire,  a  number  of  their  boats 
having  been  disabled  by  the  cannon  shot — one,  in  particular, 
having  been  cut  in  two,  sunk,  leaving  the  men  struggling  in 


APPENDIX. 


239 


»'» 


igged 


Ianey 

lavy, 
I  their 
id,  in 
jwing 

ritish 

^oats 

liar, 

[gin 


the  water  for  their  lives.  It  was  thought  that  it  contained  an 
officer  of  rank,  as  the  other  boats  hurried  to  her  assistance, 
and  evinced  much  agitatiou  until  the  ind'vidual  alluded  to 
was  saved.     But  to  let  the  doctor  tell  his  own  story  :-^ 

"  Well,  they  retreated,  and  we  made  prisoners  of  those 
whose  boats  having  been  cut  up,  were  struggling  in  the  wa- 
ter.   Among  others,  there  was  a  fine  looking  fellow,  a  petty 
officer,  who  had  been  wounded  by  the  same  shot  that  had 
sunk  tie  boat ;  so  I  got  him  up  to  the  hospital-tent,  and  cut 
off  his  leg  above  the  knee,  and  having  made  hun  comforta- 
ble, ( !  )  walked  out  upon  the  beach,  with  my  assistant  for  a 
stroll.    We  had  not  gone  far,  when  we  were  both  thrown 
upon  our  backs  by  a  violent  shock  which  momentarily  stun- 
ned us.     On  recovering  ourselves,  we  observed  the  air  filled 
with  cotton  descending  like  feathers.    We  did  not  know  how 
to  account  for  the  phenomenon,  till,  advancing  some  distance 
farther,  we  found  a  soldier  lying  apparently  dead,  with  his 
musket  by  his  side.    I  stooped  down,  and  found  that  the  man 
was  wounded  in  the  head,  a  splinter  having  lodged  just  over 
the  temple.     As  I  drew  out  the  splinter,  he  raised  himself, 
and  stared  stupidly  about  him.     I  asked  him  what  he  was 
doing  there  1 — "  I'm  standing  ground  over  the  tent,  sir,"  he 
replied.     What  tent  1 — "  Why  sir,  the  tent  that  had  the  gun- 
powder in  it."    How  came  it  to  blow  up — what  det  it  on 
firel — '*  I  don't  knov",  sir."     Did  nobody  come  along  this 
way  1 — "  Yes,  sir ;  a  man  came  along  with  a  cigar  in  his 
month,  and  asked  if  he  might  go  in  out  of  the  sun ;    I  told 
him,  yes ! — and  he  went  in,  and  sai  himself  down — and  that 
is  the  last  that  I  recollect,  until  I  found  you  standing  over 
me  here."    Upon  going  a  few  hundred  feet  farther,  we  found 
a  part,  and  still  farther  on,  the  remainder  of  the  body  of  the 


240 


APPENDIX. 


unfortunate  man,  who  ignorantly  had  been  the  cause  of  the 
explosion,  as  well  as  his  own  death.  He  was  so  completely 
blackened  and  burnt  that  it  would  have  been  impossible,  from 
his  colour,  to  have  distinguished  him  from  a  negro." 


Note  to  Hudson     ver. — Military  Academy  at  West- 
Point. — ^West-Poiu^';,  with  her  majestic  scenery — her  savage 
mountains — the  river  winding  at  their  feet — her  military  ruins 
rising  among  the  forest-trees — ^her  fine  architectural  edifices 
— ^her  flag  proudly  floating  from  its  stafi*  against  the  back- 
ground of  pure  blue  ether — her  bright  and  elastic  youth,  iq 
all  "  the  pomp  and  circumstance  of  war  " — now  marching 
on  the  broad  and  verd&^it  plain,  in  glittering  battalion — now 
as  cavalry,  spurring  their  snorting  horses  in  close  squadron 
— now  with  light  artillery  hidden  in  the  smoke  of  their  rapid 
evolutions — now  calculating  amid  the  bray  of  mortars,  the 
curving  course  of  bombs — measuring  the  ricochetting   shol 
bounding  from  the   howitzers — amid  the   roar  of  heavy 
cannon,  watching  the  balls  as  they  shiver  the  distant  tar- 
gets.— ^West-Point,  enveloped  in  its  spicy  mountain  breezes 
— ^West-Point — ^its    romantic   walks — its  melodious    birds, 
warbling  in  ecstacy  among  its  trees — its  heroic  monuments 
—its  revolutionary  relics — its  associations,  past  and  present 
— is,  to  the  tourist,  poetry — but  to  the  cadet — sober,  sober 
prose.     Incessant  study — severe  drilling — arduous  e;^ami- 
nations — alike  amid  the  sultry  heats  of  summer,  and  intense 
coF  "»f  winter,  mark  the  four  years  of  his  stay,  with  a  -con- 
tinual round  of  labour  and  application  : — application  so  severe 
that  health  frequently  gives  way  under  the  trial.    None  but 
the  most  robust  and  hardy  in  constitution,  can  sustain  the 
fatigue  and  labour.    But  few,  nursed  in  the  lap  of  wealth,  are 
willing  to  undergo  its  hardships  ;  yet,  though  the  far  greater 


APPENDIX. 


241 


of  the 
pletely 
e,  from 


West- 

savage 
ly  ruins 
edifices 
e  back- 
outh,  Iq 
larching 
)n— now 
squadron 
Bir  rapid 
tars,  the 
ng  shot 
heavy 
,nt  tar- 
breezes 
birds, 
luments 
present 
sr,  sober 
e:d:ami- 
intense 
a  con- 
severe 
me  but 
;ain  the 
dth,  are 
greater 


part  of  the  number  are  from  what  are'called  the  hardy,  certainly 
not  the  opulent  part  of  the  community  ;  under  the  cry  of  aristo- 
cracy, the  Academy  is  made  a  standing  mark  for  the  attacks  of 
the  radicals  in  the  Federal  and  State  legislatures.  Of  all 
the  places  of  public  instruction  in  the  country — in  a  national 
point  of  view — it  is  the  most  important ;  for  while  it  furnish- 
es to  the  army  a  corps  of  officers  ackhowledgedly  unsurpass- 
ed in  military  and  scientific  attainments  by  that  of  any  service 
in  Europe— -officers,  whose  names  are  synonymous  with 
modesty  and  honour,  it  is  of  incalculable  importance  in  fur- 
nishing to  the  country,  commanders  and  instructors  for  the 
militia  in  time  of  war,  and  engineers  for  the  constant  plans 
of  public  improvement  in  peace.  West-Point  proudly  boasts 
that  not  one  of  her  sons  has  'ever  disgraced  h.  jlf,  or  his 
country,  in  the  face  of  the  enemy.  She  can,  with  equal  pride, 
point  to  almost  every  work  of  importance  in  the  country,  and 
say,  "  There  too,  is  their  handy  work."  While  the  noble 
works  of  defence  on  the  frontiers  and  sea-board  bear  testimony 
to  the  talent  and  science  of  Totten,  Thayer,  and  other  gen- 
tlemen of  the  corps  of  engineers,  the  railroads,  aqueducts 
and  canals  of  the  States  bear  equal  witness  to  the  energies 
of  Douglass,  McNeill,  Whistler,  and  other  officers,  who  have 
entered  the  walks  of  private  life. 

Well  would  it  be  in  this  disorganizing  age,  if,  instead  of 
prostrating  this,  every  Sts^te  had  within  her  borders  a  similar 
institu^'ju  as  a  nucleus  of  order,  discipline,  and  obedience. 
The  following  extract  of  a  letter  from  an  officer  who  stands 
high  in  the  service,  may  not  be  unintf>resting  to  the  reader. 
16 


243 


APPEITDIX. 


r 


February  1ft,  1843. 

"  I  send  you  herewith  a  part  of  the  information  which  yea 
required  in  your  last  letter.  The  Military  Academy  is  a 
great  honour  tc  the  coiUitry,  and  is  so  understood  abroad.  I 
have  frequently  heard  foreign  officers  express  their  opinion) 
that  it  was  equal  to  any  institution  in  Europe,  and  I  was  par- 
ticularly gratified  when  I  was  abroad,  to  find  the  English  offi- 
cers so  jealous  of  it.  They  seemed  to  understand  very 
distinctly,  that,  although  the  policy  of  the  country  prevented 
our  sustaining  a  standing  army,  that  we  had  yet  kept  up  with 
the  age  in  military  science ;  and  stood  ready  prepared  with 
a  body  of  officers,  well  educated  in  scientific  knowledge,  to 
supply  a  large  army  for  efficient  and  vigorous  operations. 

*^  The  whole  number  of  gra'duates  at  the  Academy  since 
its  foundation,  is  1167.  Of  this  number  there  have  died 
in  service,  168.  There  have  been  killed  in  battle,  24. 
Of  those  wounded  in  service,  there  is  no  record.  The 
number  of  those  who  have  died  since  1837,  is  1  major,  17 
captains,  21  first  lieutenants,  and  9  second  lieutenants. 

''  The  rank  of  those  killed  since  1837,  was  1  lieutenant- 
colonel,  2  captains,  3  first  lieutenants,  and  2  second  lieu- 
tenants. The  rank  of  those  killed  previous  to  that  time  can 
only  be  ascertained  by  great  care  in  revising  the  Registers. 
The  enemies  of  the  Academy  have  charged,  that  men  have 
been  educated  and  resigned  without  performing  service  in 
the  army.  This  is  not  so.  Besides,  the  term  of  service  in 
the  Academy,  where  they  are  liable  at  any  time  to  be  called 
upon  and  sent  to  the  extremes  of  the  Union,  they  are  obliged 
by  law,  to  serve  four  years  after  they  have  graduated,  and  in 
fact,  they  seldom  do  resign,  unless  they  are  treated  unfairly 
by  government,  and  the  proportion  of  resignations  of  officers 


APPENDIX. 


248 


843. 

hich  you 
my  is  a 
Toad.    I 

opinion, 

was  par- 
glish  offi- 
md  very 
prevented 
)t  up  with 
ared  with 
/ledge,  to 
ations. 
miy  since 
kave  died 
lattle,  24. 
rd.      The 

major,  17 

aints. 

ieutenant- 

cond  lieu- 
time  can 

Registers. 

men  have 
irvice  in 

Iservice  in 
be  called 
■e  obliged 

|ted,  and  in 
id  unfairly 
of  officers 


appointed  from  civil  life,  is  much  greater  than  from  those  that 
have  graduated  at  the  Academy.  A  large  number  of  resig- 
nations took  place  in  1836,  which  was  attiibutable  to  high 
salaries  offered  for  civil  engineers,  and  to  the  general  dis- 
gust which  pervaded  the  army,  upon  the  constitution  of  two 
regiments  of  dragoons,  when  the  appointments  were  made 
almost  exclusively  from  civilians,  and  officers  of  long- stand- 
ing and  arduous  service  in  the  army  found  themselves  out- 
ranked by  men  of  no  experience,  and  who  had  done  no  service. 
You  can  have  no  idea  of  the  injustice  which  was  done  on  that 
occasion.  The  ambition  of  many  of  the  officers  was  broken 
down,  and  they  retired  in  disgust." 


Note  to  Fort  Erie, — The  Dyino  Soldier. — "  On  the  day 
preceding  the  night  attack,"  said  the  Major,  "while  the 
enemy  were  throwing  an  incessant  discharge  of  shot  and 
ahells  into  our  works,  I  observed  at  a  little  distance  beyond 
me  a  group  of  people  collected  on  the  banquette  of  the  ram- 
part ;  I  approached  and  found  that  one  of  the  militia  had 
been  mortally  wounded  by  a  cannot  shot,  and  that,  supported 
by  his  comrades,  he  was  dictating  with  his  dying  breath  his 
last  words  to  his  family.  *'  Tell  them,"  said  he,  "  that^ 
that— I  d-i-e-d  l-i-k-e  a  b-r-a-v-e  m-a-n — ^figh — fig-h-t — ^* 
and  here  his  breath  failed  him,  and  he  sunk  nearly  away— 
but  rousing  himself  again  with  a  desperate  exertion — ''  b-r-a-v-e 
m-a-n — fight-in-g  for — for — my  c-o-u-n-try," — ^and  he  ex- 
pired with  the  words  upon  his  lips." 


Night  Attack  on  Fort  Erie. — The  Officer's  Sabre.— 
The  writer  saw  in  the  possession  of  Major  ,  a  beauti- 

ful scimitar-shaped  sabre,  with  polished  steel  scabbard ;  the 


i  ! 


244 


APPEN  DIX . 


number  of  the  regiment,  (110th,  he  thinks,)  embossed  on  its 
blade,  which  one  of  the  soldiers  picked  up  and  brought  in 
from  among  the  scattered  arms  and  dead  bodies  in  front  of 
the  works  on  the  following  morning.  The  white  leathern  belt 
was  cut  in  two,  probably  by  a  grape  shot  or  musket  ball,  and 
saturated  with  blood.  Whether  its  unfortunate  owner  was 
killed,  or  wounded  only,  of  course  could  not  be  known.  It 
was  a  mute  and  interesting  witness  of  that  night's  carnage— 
and  had  undoubtedly  belonged  to  some  officer  who  had  been 
in  Egypt,  and  had  relinquished  the  straight  European  sabre, 
for  this  favourite  weapon  of  the  Mameluke. 


Note  to  Attack  on  Fort  Erie,  and  Battle  of  Lundy's  Lane. 
—These  two  articles  elicited  the  following  reply  from  the 
pen  of  an  officer  of  the  U.  S.  army,  who  has,  alas !  since  it 
was  written,  fallen  before  the  hand  of  the  grim  tyrant,  whose 
blow  never  falls  but  in  death.  The  authenticity  of  the  state- 
ment can  be  relied  upon,  as  the  documents  from  whence  it 
was  derived,  were  the  papers  of  Major-General  Brown,  and 
other  high  officers  engaged  in  the  campaign.  It  is  proper  to 
observe,  that  in  the  rambling  sketch  of  a  tourist,  where  a  mere 
cursory  description  was  all  that  was  aimed  at,  the  apparent 
injustice  done  to  that  gallant  officer  and  eminently  skilful 
soldier,  Major-General  Brown,  (who  certainly  ought  to  have 
been  placed  more  prominently  in  the  foreground,)  was  en- 
tirely unintentional.  The  officer  alluded  to  was  under  the 
impression  that  Colonel  Wood's  remains  were  never  recov- 
ered, and  that  consequently  the  monument  erected  to  his 
memory  at  West-Point  does  not  rest  upon  them.  Much  of 
the  material  of  the  two  articles  (eliciting  these  comments)  was 
derived  from  conversations  with  another  highly  accomplished 


APPENDIX 


245 


and  now  retired  officer  of  the  U.  S.  army ;  and  as  they  were 
published  without  his  knowledge,  the  writer  ipserts  the  fol- 
lowing reply  made  to  the  strictures  at  the  time :  . 

*  *  •  ♦  "  Deeming  that '  a  local  habitation  and  a  name '  may 
be  affixed  to  my  friend  the  '  Major/  and  that  he  may  be  con- 
sidered responsible  for  inaccuracies  for  which  others  alone 
are  accountable,  I  hasten  to  say,  that  in  the  description  of  the 
battle  at  Lundy^s  Lane,  (with  the  exception  of  some  of  the 
personal  anecdotes,)  the  title  is  retained  merely  as  a  nom  de 
guerre  to  carry  the  reader  through  the  different  phases  of 
the  action.  The  description  of  the  night  attack  on  Fort 
Erie,  as  well  as  that  of  the  character  and  personal  appear- 
ance of  Lieutenant-Colonel  Wood,  is,  however,  almost  lite- 
rally that  given  at  the  fireside  of  my  friend.  The  information 
received  from  the  British  camp  on  the  following  morning, 
through  a  flag,  was,  as  near  as  could  be  ascertained,  that 
Colonel  Wood  had  been  bayonetted  to  death  on  the  ground ; 
and  my  impression  was  that  his  body  had  been  subsequently 
identified  and  returned.  But  as  your  correspondent,  appa- 
rently a  broJ;her  officer,  speaks  so  decidedly.  I  presume  he  is 
correct.  Far  more  agreeable  to  me  would  it  have  been  to 
have  remained  under  the  delusion,  that  the  bones  of  that  gal- 
lant and  accomplished  soldier  slept  under  the  green  plateau 
of  West  Point,  than  the  supposition  that  even  now  they  may 
be  restlessly  whirling  in  some  dark  cavern  of  the  cataracts* 
The  account  of  the  battle  at  Lundy^s  Lane  was  compiled 
from  one  of  the  earlier  editions  of  Brackenridge's  History  of 
the  Late  War,  (I  think  the  third,)  the  only  written  authority 
that  I  had  upon  the  subject,  and  from  conclusions  drawn  from 
rambles  and  casual  conversations  on  the  battle-ground.  In 
how  far  a  rough  sketch,  which  was  all  that  was  aimed  at) 


246 


A  P  PIN  O I  X 


has  been  conveyed  from  that  autnority,  the  reader,  as  well 
as  your  correspondent,  can  best  determine  by  referring  to  the 
history  alluded  to."  The  desperate  bayonet  charge  is  thus 
described  in  that  work,  fourth  edition,  p.  269-270. 

*  *  •  *  "  Tlie  enemy *s  artillery  occupied  a  hill  which  was 
the  key  to  the  whole  position,  and  it  would  be  in  vain  to  hope 
for  victory  while  they  were  permitted  to  retain  it.  Address- 
ing himself  to  Colonel  Miller,  he  inquired  whether  he  could 
storm  the  batteries  at  the  head  of  the  twenty  first,  while  he 
would  himself  support  him  with  the  younger  regiment,  the 
twenty-third  1  To  this  the  wary,  but  intrepid  veteran  replied, 
in  an  unaffected  phrase,  '  Fll  try,  sir  ;'*  words  which  were 
afterwards  given  as  the  motto  of  his  regiment. 

•  *  •  ♦  "  The  twenty-third  was  formed  in  close  column 
under  its  commander,  Major  McFarland,  and  the  first  regi- 
ment, under  Colonel  Nicholas,  was  left  to  keep  the  infantry 
in  check.  The  two  regiments  moved  on  to  one  of  the  most 
perilous  charges  ever  attempted  ;  the  whole  of  the  artillery 
opened  upon  them  as  they  advanced,  supported  by  a  power- 
ful line  of  infantry.  The  twenty-first  advanced  steadily  to 
its  purpose  ;  the  twenty-third  faltered  on  receiving  the  deadly 
fire  of  the  enemy,  but  was  suon  rallied  by  the  personal  exer- 
tions of  General  Ripley.  When  within  a  hundred  yards  of 
the  summit,  they  received  another  dreadful  discharge,  by 
which  Major  McFarland  was  killed,  and  the  command  de- 
volved on  Major  Brooks.  To  the  amazement  of  the  British, 
the  intrepid  Miller  firmly  advanced,  until  within. a  few  paces 
of  their  line,  when  he  impetuqjusly  charged  upon  the  artillery, 


ii 


•  The  twenty -first  carried  the  celebrated  ♦/'//  try^  Sir,*  inscribed 
upon  their  buttons  during  the  remainder  of  the  war. 


APPIN  D IX. 


247 


r,  as  well 
ing  to  the 
(6  is  thus 

hich  was 
1  to  hope 
Address- 
he  could 
vhile  he 
lent,  the 
replied, 
ch  were 

column 
8t  regi- 
infantry 
lie  most 
utillery 
power- 
idily  to 

deadly 
il  exer- 
Eirds  of 
ge,  by 
nd  de- 
British, 

paces 
tillery, 

scribed 


which,  after  a  short  but  desperate  resistance,  yielded  their 
whole  battery,  and  the  Amr;rican  line  was  in  a  moment  formed 
in  the  rear  upon  the  ground  previously  occupied  by  the  Bri- 
tish infantry.  In  carrying  the  larger  pieces,  the  twenty-first 
suffered  severely;  Lieutenant  Cilley,  after  an  unexampled 
effort,  fell  wounded  by  the  side  of  the  piece  which  he  took  : 
there  were  but  few  of  the  oflicers  of  this  regiment  who  were 
not  either  killed  or  wounded. 

"  So  far  as  I  can  recollect,  the  personal  narrative  c^  my 
friend  was  as  follows  :  Milter,  quietly  surveying  the  battery, 
coolly  replied — *  I'll  try,  sir ;'  then  turning  to  his  regiment, 
drilled  to  beautiful  precision,  said,  'Attention,  twenty-fii't.' 
He  directed  them  as  they  rushed  up  the  hill,  to  deliver  their 
fire  at  the  port-lights  of  the  artillerymen,  and  to  immediately 
carry  the  guns  at  the  point  of  the  bayonet.  In  a  very  short 
time  they  moved  on  to  the  ^harge,  delivered  their  fire  as 
directed,  and  after  a  furious  struggle  of  a  few  moments  over 
the  cannon,  the  battery  was  in  their  possession.  The  words 
of  caution  of  the  officers,  '  Close  up — steady,  men— steady,' 
I  have  heard  indifferently  ascribed  to  them  at  this  charge, 
and  at  the  desperate  sortie  from  Fort  Erie.  I  am  thus  par- 
ticular with  regard  to  the  detail  of  this  transaction,  not  that 
I  think  your  correspondent,  any  more  than  myself,  regards  it 
as  of  much  moment,  but  lest  my  friend  should  be  r>  iir:  dered 
responsible  for  words  which  he  did  not  utter. 

*  *  *  *  "  To  show  with  what  secresy  the  arrangements 
were  made  for  the  sortie,  it  is  believed  that  the  enemy  was 
in  utter  ignorance  of  the  movement.  To  confirm  him  in  error, 
a  succession  of  trusty  spies  were  sent  to  him  in  the  character 
of  deserters  up  to  the  close  of  day  of  the  16th ;  and  so  little 
did  the  army  know  of  what  were  General  Brown's  plans  for 


248 


APPENDIX. 


■| 


that  day,  that  even  if  an  officer  had  gone  over  to  the  enemy^ 
the  information  he  could  have  given  must  have  been  favour- 
able to  the  meditated  enterprise,  as  no  one  had  been  consulted 
but  General  Porter,  and  the  engineers  Colonels  McRae  and 
Wood. 

"  At  nine  o'clock  in  the  evening  of  the  16th,  the  general- 
in-chief  called  his  assistant  adjutant-general.  Major  Jones, 
and  after  explaining  concisely  his  object,  ordered  him  to  see 
the  officers  whom  the  General  named  and  direct  them  to  his 
tent.  The  officers  General  Brown  had  selected  to  have  ihe 
honour  of  leading  commands  on  the  17th  came ;  he  explained 
to  them  his  views  and  determinations,  and  enjoyed  much 
satisfaction  at  seeing  that  his  confidence  had  not  been  mis- 
placed. They  left  him  to  prepare  for  the  duty  assigned  to 
them  on  the  succeeding  day.  At  twelve  o'clock  the  last 
agent  was  sent  to  the  enemy  in  the  character  of  a  deserter, 
and  aided,  by  disclosing  all  he  knew,  to  confirm  him  in  se- 
curity. 

"  The  letter,  of  which  the  following  is  an  extract,  was  writ-' 
ten  by  General  Brown  to  the  Department  of  War  early  in 
the  morning  of  the  25th  July,  1814  : 

" '  As  General  Gaines  informed  me  that  the  Commodore  was 
in  port,  and  as  he  did  not  know  when  the  fleet  would  sail,  or 
when  the  guns  and  troops  that  I  had  been  expecting  would 
even  leave  Sackett's  Harbour,  1  have  thought  it  proper  to 
change  my  position  with  a  view  to  other  objects.'  ^ 

"  General  Scott,  with  the  first  brigade,  Towson's  artillery, ' 
all  the  dragoons  and  mounted  men,  was  accordingly  put  in 
inarch  towards  Queenston.    He  was  particularly  instructed 
to  report  if  the  enemy  appeared,  and  to  call  for  assistance  if 
that  was  necessary.    Having  command  of  the  dragoons,  he 


APPENDIX. 


249 


would  have,  it  was  supposed,  the  means  of  intelligence.  On 
General  Scott's  arrival  near  the  Falls,  he  learned  that  the 
enemy  was  in  force  directly  in  his  front,  a  narrow  piene  of 
woods  alone  intercepting  his  view  of  them.  Waiting  oniy  to 
despatch  this  information,  hut  not  to  receive  any  in  return, 
the  General  advanced  upon  him.  '' 

''  Hearing  the  report  o  cannon  and  small  arms,  General 
Brown  at  once  concluded  that  a  battle  had  commenced  be- 
tween the  advance  of  his  army  and  the  enemy,  and  without 
waiting  for  information  from  General  Scott,  orderc*  the 
second  brigade  and  all  the  artillery  to  march  as  rapidly  as 
possible  to  his  support,  and  directed  Colonel  Gardner  to  re- 
main and  see  this  order  executed.  He  then  rode  with  his 
aids-de-camp,  and  Major  McRee,  with  all  speed  towards  the 
scene  of  action.  As  he  approached  the  Falls,  about  a  mile 
from  Chippeway,  he  met  Major  Jones,  who  had  accompanied 
General  Scott,  bearing  a  message  from  him,  advising  General 
Brown  that  he  had  met  the  enemy.  From  the  information 
given  by  Major  Jones,  it  was  concluded  to  order  up  General 
Porter's  command,  and  Major  Jones  was  sent  with  this  order. 
Advancing  a  little  further,  General  Brown  met  Major  Wood, 
of  the  engineers,  who  also  had  accompanied  General  Scott. 
He  reported  that  the  conflict  between  General  Scott  and  the 
enemy  was  close  and  desperate,  and  urged  that  reinforce- 
ments should  be  hurried  forward.  The  reinforcements  were 
now  marching  with  all  possible  rapidity.  The  Major-General 
was  accompanied  by  Major  Wood  to  the  field  of  battle.  Upon 
his  arrival,  he  found  that  General  Scott  had  passed  the  woodi 
and  engaged  the  enemy  upon  the  Queenston  road  and  the 
ground  to  the  lefl  of  it,  with  the  9th,  1 1th,  and  22d  regi- 
ments, and  Towson's  artillery.    The  25th  had  been  detached 


250 


APPENDIX. 


i     ' 

\ 


to  the  right  to  be  governed  by  circumstances.  Apprehend- 
ing these  troops  to  be  much  exhausted,  notwithstanding  the 
good  front  they  showed,  and  knowing  that  they  had  suffered 
severely  in  the  contest,  General  Brown  determined  to  form 
and  interpose  a  new  line  with  the  advancing  troops,  and  thus 
disengage  General  Scott,  and  hold  his  brigade  in  reserve* 
By  this  time  Captains  Biddle  and  Ritchie's  companies  of 
artillery  had  come  into  action.  The  head  of  General  Rip- 
ley's dolumn  was  nearly  up  with  the  right  of  General  Scott's 
line.  At  this  moment  the  enemy  fell  back,  in  consequence, 
it  was  believed,  of  the  arrival  of  fresh  troops,  which  they 
could  see  and  begin  to  feel.  At  the  moment  the  enemy 
broke,  General  Scott's  brigade  gave  a  general  huzza,  that 
cheered  the  whole  line.  General  Ripley  was  ordered  to 
pass  his  line  and  display  his  column  in  front.  The  move- 
ment was  commenced  in  obedience  to  the  order.  Majors 
McRee  and  Wood  had  rapidly  reconnoitered  the  enemy  and 
his  position.  McRee  reported  that  he  appeared  to  have 
taken  up  a  new  position  with  his  line,  and  with  his  artillery, 
to  have  occupied  a  height  which  gave  him  great  advantages 
it  being  the  key  of  the  whole  position.  To  secure  the  vic- 
tory, it  was  necessary  to  carry  this  height,  and  seize  his 
artillery.  McRee  was  ordered  by  the  Major-General  to  con- 
duct Ripley's  command  on  the  Queenstown  road,  with  a  view 
to  that  object,  and  prepare  the  2Ut  regiment  under  Colonel 
Miller  for  the  duty.  ' 

"  The  second  brigade  immediately  advanced  on  the  Queen- 
ston  road.  Gen.  Brown,  with  his  aids-de-camp  and  Major 
Wood  passing  to  the  left  of  the  second  brigade  in  front  of  the 
first,  approached  the  enemy's  artillery,  and  observed  an  ex- 
tended line  of  infantry  formed  for  its  suppoit.    A  detachment 


APPENDIX . 


251 


)prehend- 

iding  the 

1  suffered 

to  form 

i' 

and  time 
reserve. 
>anies  of 
iral  Rip. 
tl  Scott's 
equence, 
ieh  they 
enemy 
iza,  that 
lered  to 
B  move- 
Majors 
imy  and 
to  have 
irtillery, 
antages 
the  vic- 
iize  his 
to  con- 


a  view 
'Olonel 


3ueen- 

Major 

of  the 

an  ex- 

hment 


of  the  first  regiment  of  infantry,  under  command  of  Col. 
Nicolas,  which  arrived  that  day,  and  was  attached  to  neither 
of  the  brigades,  but  had  marched  to  the  field  of  battle  in  the 
rear  of  the  second,  was  ordered  promptly  to  break  off  to  the 
left,  and  form  a  line  facing  the  enemy  on  the  height,  with  a 
yiew  of  drawing  his  fire  and  attracting  his  attention,  while 
Col.  Miller  advanced  with  the  bayonet  upon  his  left  flank  to 
carry  his  artillery.  As  the  first  regiment,  led  by  Major 
Wood  and  commanded  by  Col.  Nicolas,  approached  its  posi- 
tion, the  commanding  General  rode  to  Col.  Miller,  and  order- 
ed him  to  charge  and  carry  the  enemy's  artillery  with  the 
bayonet.  He  replied  in  a  tone  o  great  promptness  and  good 
humour — *  It  shall  be  done.  Sir.' 

**  At  this  moment  the  first  regiment  gave  way  under  the  fire 
of  the  enemy  ;  but  Col.  Miller,  without  regard  to  this  circum- 
stance, advanced  steadily  to  his  object,  and  carried  the  height 
and  the  cannon  in  a  style  rarely  equalled — never  excelled. 
At  this  point  of  time  when  Col.  Miller  moved,  the  23d  regi- 
ment was  on  his  right,  a  little  in  the  rear.  Gen.  Ripley  led 
this  regiment :  it  had  some  severe  fighting,  and  in  a  degree 
gave  way,  but  was  promptly  reformed,  and  brought  upon  the 
right  of  the  21  st,  with  which  were  connected  a  detachment  of 
the  17th  and  19th. 

"  Gen.  Ripley  being  now  with  his  brigade,  formed  a  line, 
(the  enemy  having  been  driven  from  his  commanding  ground) 
with  the  captured  cannon,  nine  pieces  in  the  rear.  The  first 
regiment  having  been  rallied,  was  brought  into  line  by  Lt. 
Col.  Nicolas  on  the  left  of  the  second  brigade ;  and  Gen. 
Porter  coming  up  at  this  time,  occupied  with  his  command 
the  extreme  left.  Our  artillery  formed  the  right  between  the 
21st  and  2dd  regiments.    Having  given  to  Col.  Miller  orders 


I 


252 


APPE  NDIX. 


to  Storm  the  heights  and  carry  the  cannon  as  he  advanced, 
Gen.  Brown  moved  from  his  right  flank  to  the  rear  of  his 
left.  Maj.  Wood  and  Capt.  Spencer  met  him  on  the  Queen- 
ston  road  ;  turning  down  that  voad,  he  passed  directly  in  the 
rear  of  the  23rd,  as  they  advanced  to  the  support  of  Col.  Mil- 
ler. The  shouts  of  the  Americaa  soldiers  on  the  heights  at 
this  moment,  assured  him  of  Col.  Miller's  success,  and  he 
hastened  toward  the  place,  designing  to  turn  from  the  Queen- 
ston  road  towards  the  heights  up  Lundy's  Lane.  In  the  act 
of  doing  so,  Maj.  Wood  and  Capt.  Spencer,  who  were  about 
a  horse's  length  before  him,  were  near  riding  upon  a  body  of 
the  enemy ;  and  nothing  prevented  them  from  doing  it  but  an 
officer  exclaiming  before  them,  "  They  are  the  Yankees." 
The  exclamation  halted  the  three  American  officers,  and  upon 
looking  down  the  road  they  saw  a  line  of  British  infantry 
drawn  up  in  front  of  the  western  fence  of  the  road  with  its 
right  resting  upon  Lundy's  Lane. 

"  The  British  officer  had,  at  the  moment  he  gave  this  alarm, 
discovered  Maj.  Jesup.  The  Major  had,  as  before  observed, 
at  the  commencement  of  the  action,  been  ordered  by  Gen. 
Scott  to  take  ground  to  his  right. 

"  He  had  succeeded  in  turning  the  enemy's  left,  had  captured 
Gen.  Riall  and  several  other  officers,  and  sent  them  to  camp, 
an4  then,  feeling  and  searching  his  way  silently  towards  where 
the  battle  was  raging,  had  brought  his  regiment,  the  25th,, 
after  a  little  comparative  loss,  up  to  the  eastern  fence  at  the 
Queenston  road,  a  little  to  the  north  of  Lundy's  Lane.  The 
moment  the  British  gave  Jesup  notice  of  having  discovered 
him,  Jesup  ordered  his  command  to  fire  upon  the  enemy's 
line.  The  lines  could  not  have  been  more  then  four  rods 
apart — Jesup  behind  the  south  fence,  the  British  in  front  of 


APPENDIX. 


253 


the  north.  The  slaughter  was  dreadful;  the  enemy  fled 
down  the  Queenston  road  at  the  third  or  fourth  fire.  As  the 
firing  ceased,  the  Major-General  approached  Major  Jesup, 
advised  him  that  Col.  Miller  had  carried  the  enemy's  attil- 
lery,  and  received  information  of  the  capture  of  Gen.  Riall. 
"  The  enemy  having  rallied  his  broken  forces  and  received 
reinforcements,  was  now  discovered  in  good  order  and  in  great 
force.  The  commanding  General,  doubting  the  correctness 
of  thv.'  information,  and  to  ascertain  the  truth,  passed  in  per- 
son with  his  suite  in  front  of  our  line.  He  could  no  longer 
doubt,  as  i  more  extended  line  than  he  had  yet  seen  during 
the  engagement  was  near,  and  advancing  upon  us.  Capt. 
Spencer,  without  saying  a  word,  put  spurs  to  his  horse,  and 
rode  directly  up  to  the  advancing  line,  then,  turning  towards 
the  enemy's  right,  inquired  in  a  strong  and  firm  voice, 
*  What  regiment  is  that  V  and  was  as  promptly  answered, 
*The  Royal  Scots,  Sir.' 

*'  General  Brown  and  suite  then  threw  themselv3s  bshind 
our  troops  without  loss  of  time,  and  waited  the  attack.    The 
enemy  advanced  slowly  ai.d  firmly  upon  us  :  perfect  silen.^e 
was  observed  throughout  both  armies  until  the  lines  approach- 
ed to  within  four  to  six  rods.    Our  troops  had  levelled  their 
pieces  and  the  artillery  was  prepared, — the  order  to  fire  was 
given.    Most  awful  was  its  effect,,    The  lines  closed  in  part 
before  the  enemy  was  broken.    He  then  retired  precipitately* 
the  American  army  following  him.    The  field  was  covered 
with  the  slain,  but  not  an  enemy  capable  of  marching  was  to 
be  seen.    We  dressed  our  men  upon  the  ground  we  occupied. 
Gfen.  Brown  was  not  disposed  to  leave  it  in  the  dark,  know- 
ing it  was  the  best  in  the  neigbourhood.    His  intention,  then* 


S54 


A  P  P  £  N  i?  IX. 


waa  to  maintain  it  until  day  should  dawn,  and  to  be  governed 
by  circumstances. 

"  Our  gallant  and  accomplished  foe  did  not  give  us  much 
time  for  deliberation.  He  showed  himself  within  twenty 
minutes,  apparently  undismayed  and  in  good  order." 

Extract  of  a  private  letter  from  the  writer  of  the  above 
article,  dated  January  15,  1841.    *  ♦  *  * 

"As  to  the  fate  of  the  gallant  and  accomplished  Wood.— 
You  supposed  a  flag  from  the  enemy  reported  he  had  been 
bayoneted  to  death  on  tlie  ground — ^like  enough,  but  hov.'  did 
the  enemy  recognise  his  body.  Gen.  Porter  thinks  he  fell 
at  the  close  of  tin  action  at  batter)'  No.  1,  but  I  never  heard 
that  any  one  saw  hin;  fall.— His  body  never  was  recovered. 
Those  of  Gibson  and  I);,  vis,  tht^  leaders  of  the  two  other  col- 
umns in  Gen.  Porter^s  command,  were. 

"  Soon  after  the  war,  McRee,  one  of  the  best  military  engi- 
neers this  country  ever  produced,  threw  up  his  commission  in 
disgust  and  died  of  the  cholera  at  St.  Louis. 

"  From  the  time  I  lost  sight  of  Gen.  Scott  in  my  narrative 
until  after  the  change  referred  to  at  the  end  of  the  narrative, 
Gen.  Scott  with  three  of  his  battalions  had  been  held  in  reserve. 
The  commander-in-chief  now  rode  in  person  to  Gen.  Scott, 
and  ordered  him  to  advance.  That  officer  was  prepared  and  ex- 
pected the  call. — As  Scott  advanced  toward  Ripley's  left,  Gen. 
Brown  passed  to  the  left  to  speak  with  Gen.  Porter  and  see 
the  condition  and  countenance  of  his  militia,  who,  at  that  mo- 
ment, were  thrown  into  some  confusion  under  a  most  galling 
and  deadly  fire  from  the  enemy :  they  were,  however,  ke|^ 
to  their  duty  by  the  exertions  of  their  gallant  chiefs,  and 
most  nobly  sustained  the  conflict.  The  enemy  was  repulsed 
and  again  driven  out  of  sight.    But  a  short  time,  however,  had 


19 


APPBN  DIX. 


255 


governed 

us  much 
1  twenty 

le  above 

^^ood— 
ad  been 

dov.'  did 
he  ieJl 

sr  heard 

iovered. 

ler  col- 

y  eiigi- 
ssion  in 

rrative 
rative, 
(serve, 
Scott, 
ndex- 
f  Gon. 
d  see 
t  mo- 
alling 
kejjft 
If  and 
ulsed 
)had 


elapsed,  when  he  was  once  more  distinctly  seen,  in  great 
force,  advancing  upon  our  main  line  under  the  command  of 
Ripley  and  Porter.  The  direction  that  Scott  had  given  his 
column  would  have  enabled  him  in  five  minutes,  to  have 
farmed  a  line  in  the  rear  of  the  enemy  ^s  right,  and  thus  have 
brought  him  between  two  fires.  But  in  a  moment  most 
unexpected,  a  flank  fire  from  a  party  of  the  enemy,  concealed 
upon  our  left,  falling  upon  th^  centre  of  Scott's  command} 
when  in  open  column,  blasted  our  proud  expectations.  His 
column  was  severed  in  two ;  one  part  passing  to  the  rear,  the 
other  by  the  right  flank  of  platoons  towards  the  main  line. 
About  this  period  Gen.  Brown  received  his  first  wound,  a 
musket  ball  passing  through  his  right  thigh  and  carrying 
away  his  watch  sealt  a  few  minutes  after  Capt.  Spencer  re» 
ceived  his  mortal  wound.     *  *  *  • 

"  This  was  the  last  desperate  eflTort  made  by  the  enemy  to 
regain  his  position  and  artillery.    *  *  *  * 

*'  Porter's  volunteers  were  not  excelled  by  the  regulars 
daring  this  charge.  They  were  soon  precipitated  by  their 
heroic  commander  upon  the  enemy's  line,  which  they  broke 
and  dispersed,  making  many  prisoners.  The  enemy  now 
seemed  to  be  effectually  routed  ;  they  disappeared.     *  *  •  ♦ 

"  At  the  commencement  of  the  action.  Col.  Jesup  was  de- 
tached to  the  left  of  the  enemy,  with  the  discretionary  order, 
to  be  governed  by  circumstances. — The  commander  of  the 
British  forces  had  committed  a  fault  by  leaving  a  road  us- 
guarded  on  his  left.  Col.  Jesup,  taking  advantage  of  this, 
threw  himself  promptly  into  the  rear  of  the  enemy,  where  he 
was  enabled  to  operate  with  brilliant  enterprise  and  the 
happiest  efl*ect.  The  capture  of  Gen.  Riall,  with  a  large  es- 
cort of  ofllcers  of  rank,  was  part  of  the  trophies  of  his  intrepidi- 


".i. 


'I 


U 


i! 


H 


I 


':.     i 


206 


APF  E  N  D  IX. 


ty  ard  skill.  It  is  not,  we  venture  '  assert,  bestowing  on 
him  too  much  praise  to  say,  that  to  his  achievements,  more 
than  to  those  of  any  other  indievidual,  is  to  be  attributed  the 
preservation  of  the  first  brigade  from  utter  annihilation. 

"Among  the  officers  captured  by  Col.  Jesup,  ivas  Capt. 
Loring,  one  of  General  Drummond's  aid-de-camps,  who  had 
been  despatched  from  the  front  line  to  order  up  the  reserve, 
with  a  view  to  fall  on  Scott  with  the  concentrated  force  of 
the  whole  army  and  overwhelm  him  at  a  single  effort.  Nor 
would  it  have  been  possible  to  prevent  this  oatastrophe,  had 
the  reserve  arrived  in  time ;  the  force  with  which  General 
Scott  would  have  been  obliged  to  contend  being  nearly  quad- 
ruple that  of  his  own.  By  the  fortunate  capture,  however, 
of  the  British  aid-de-camp,  before  the  completion  of  the  ser- 
vice  on  which  he  had  been  ordered,  the  enemy's  reserve  was 
not  brought  into  action  until  the  arrival  of  Gen.  Ripley's 
brigade,  which  prevented  the  disaster  that  must  otherwise 
have  ensued,  and  achieved,  in  the  end,  one  of  the  most 
hon  urable  victories  that  ever  shed  lustre  upon  the  arms  of  a 
nation.  *  *  *  * 


Note  to  Lundy^s  Lane. — Rainbow  of  the  Cataract.— 
The  afternoon  of  the  action  presented  one  of  those  delicious 
summer  scenes  in  which  all  nature  appears  to  be  breathing  in 
harmony  and  beauty. — ^As  General  Scott's  brigade  came  in 
view,  and  halted  in  the  vicinity  of  the  cataracts,  the  mist  rising 
from  the  falls,  was  thrown  in  upon  the  land,  arch' ig  the 
American  force  with  a  vivid  and  gorgeous  rainbow,  the  leflt 
resting  on  the  cataract,  and  the  right  lost  in  the  forest.  Its 
brilliance  and  beauty  was  such,  that  it  excited  not  only  the 
enthusiasm  of  the  ofiicerSj  but  even  the  camp  followers  were 
filled  with  admiration. 


APPENDIX. 


267 


Note  to  Lundy^s  Z^ne.— The  day  after  the  battle. — 
"  I  rode  to  the  battle-ground  about  day-light  on  the  following 
morning,  without  ^witnessing  the  presence  of  a  single  British 
officer  or  soldier.  The  dead  had  not  been  removed  through 
the  night,  and  such  a  scene  of  carnage  I  never  before 
beheld. — Red  coats,  blue,  and  grey,  promiscuously  intermin- 
gled, in  many  places  three  deep.,  and  around  the  hill  where 
the  enemy's  artillery  was  carried  by  Colonel  Miller,  the  car- 
casses  of  sixty  or  seventy  horses  added  to  the  horror  of  the 
scene." — Private  Letter  of  an  Officer. 

The  dead  were  collected  and  burnt  in  funeral  piles,  made 
of  rails,  on  the  field  where  they  had  fallen. 


Note  to  Lundy'^s  Lane. — ^Thb  two  Sbrobants. — For 
several  days  after  the  action,  the  country  people  found  the 
bodies  of  soldiers  who  had  straggled  off  into  the  woods,  and 
died  of  their  wounds. — ^At  some  distance  from  the  field  of 
battle,  and  entirely  alone,  were  found  the  bodies  of  two  ser- 
geants, American  and  English,  transfixed  by  each  other^s 
bayonets,  lying  across  each  other,  where  they  had  fallen  in 
deadly  duel.  It  is  rare  that  individual  combat  takes  place 
under  such  circumstances  in  the  absence  of  spectators  to 
cheer  on  the  combatants  by  their  approval,  and  this  incident 
conveys  some  idea  of  the  desperation  which  characterised  the 
general  contest  on  that  night.  Yet  in  this  lonely  and  brief 
tragedy,  these  two  men  were  enacting  parts,  which  to  them 
were  as  momentous  as  the  furious  conflict  of  the  masses  in 
the  distance. 


Note  to  Lundy^s  Lane. — Death  of  Captaik  Holl.— • 
Captain  Hull,  a  son  of  General  Hull,  whose  unfortunate  sur  ^ 
17 


H 


S58 


APPBlf  DIZ  . 


render  at  Detroit  created  so  much  odium,  fell  in  this  battle. 
He  led  his  men  into  the  midst  of  the  heaviest  tire  of  ttie  ene- 
my, and  ailer  they  were  almost  if  not  all  destroyed,  plunged 
sword  in  hand  into  the  centre  of  the  British  column,  lighting 
with  the  utmost  desperation  until  he  was  literally  impaled 
upon  their  bayonets. 

In  the  pocket  of  this  gallant  and  generous  young  officer, 
was  found  a  letter,  avowing  his  determination  to  signalize 
the  name  or  to  fall  in  the  attempt. 


Note  to  Lundy^s  Lane. — Scott's  BaiOADE.—Part  of 
Gen.  Scott's  comsiiand  were  dressed  in  grey — (probably 
the  fatigue  dress) — at  the  battle  of  Chippewa.  An  English 
company  officer  relates,  that — '•^  Advancing  at  the  head  of 
my  men,  I  saw  a  body  of  Americans  drawn  up,  dressed  in 
grey  unifonn.  Supposing  them  to  be  militia,  I  directed  my 
men  to  fire,  and  immediately  charge  bayonet. — What  was 
my  surprise,  to  find  as  the  smoke  of  our  fire  lifted  from  the 
ground,  that  instead  of  flying  in  consternation  from  our  des- 
tructive discharge,  the  supposed  militia  were  coming  down 
upon  us  at '  double  quick ' — at  the  charge.  In  two  minutes 
I  stood  alone,  my  men  having  given  way,  without  waiting  to 
meet  the  shock." 


Note  to  Lundifs  Lane. — Death  of  Capt.  Spencer.-— 
Capt.  Spencer,  aid-de-camp  to  Maj.  Gen.  Brown,  a  son  of 
the  Hon.  Ambrose  Spencer,  was  only  eighteen  years  of 
age  at  the  time  that  he  closed  his  brief  career.  He  was 
directed  by  Gen.  Brown  to  carry  an  order  to  another  part 
of  the  field,  and  to  avoid  a  more  circuiiuus  route,  he  chival- 
rously galloped  down,  exposed  to  the  heavy  fire  in  the  front 


s  battle, 
the  ene- 
plunged 
fighting 
impaled 

:  officer, 
lignalize 


Part  of 
probably 
English 
head  of 
eased  in 
cted  my 
hat  was 
'rem  the 
jour  des- 

ig  down 
I  minutes 

biting  to 


ICER.— 

son  of 

Irears  of 

He  was 

|er  part 

chival- 

le  front 


APPE  ND IZ. 


259 


of  the  line,  eliciting  the  admiration  of  both  armies,  but  before 
he  reached  the  point  of  his  destination,  two  balls  passed 
through  his  body,  and  he  rolled  from  his  saddle. 

The  following  letter  to  Gen.  Armstrong,  Secretary  of 
War,  will  show  in  what  estimation  he  was  held  by  Gen. 
Brown  :— 

Copy  of  a  letter  from  Major  Gen.  Brown,  ta  Gen.  Arm- 
strong, Secretary  of  War. 

*^HEiD  QuARTSBs,  FoBT  Erie, 
20th  September,  1814. 

"  Sir — ^Among  the  officers  lost  to  this  army,  in  the  battle  of 
Niagara  Falls,  was  my  aid-de-camp.  Captain  Ambrose  Spen- 
cer, who  being  mortally  wounded,  was  obliged  to  be  left  in 
the  hands  of  the  enemy.  By  flags  from  the  British  army,  I 
was  shortly  afterwards  assured  of  his  convalescence,  and  an 
offer  was  made  me  by  Lieutenant  General  Drummond,  to 
exchange  him  for  his  own  aid,  Captain  Loring,  then  a  pri- 
soner of  war  with  us.  However  singular  this  proposition 
appeared,  as  Captain  Loring  was  not  wounded,  nor  had  re- 
ceived the  slightest  injury,  I  was  willing  to  comply  with  it 
on  Captain  Spencer's  account.  But  as  I  knew  his  woundsr 
were  severe^.  I  first  sent  to  ascertain  the  fact  of  his  being 
then  living.  My  messenger,  wkh  a  flag,  was  detained,  nor 
even  once  permitted  to  see  Captain  Spencer,  though  in  hift 
immediate  vicinity. 

"  The  evidence  I  wished  to  acquire  failed  ;  but  my  regard 
for  Captain  Spencer,  would  not  permit  me  longer  to  delay^ 
and  I  informed  General  Drummond,  that  his  aid  should  be 
exchanged,  even  for  the  body  of  mine.  This  offer  was,  n» 
doubt,  gladly  ac-?p*'="l.  and  the  carpse  of  Captain  Spencer 
sent  to  the  Americao  shore." 


# 


^.',JT4^ 


III 


I 


260 


APPENDIX 


Note  to  Montreal. — The  custom  of  emblaxoning  on  the 
flags,  and  other  military  insignia  of  the  regiments,  the  actions 
in  which  they  have  signalized  themselves,  obtaining  in  the 
British  and  other  European  services,  is  not  now  allowed  in 
that  of  the  United  States,  on  the  score  of  its  aristocratic 
tendency  !  Although,  perhaps,  in  the  instance  alluded  to, 
the  stupidity  of  the  individual  prevented  him  from  under- 
standing their  meaning ;  still,  to  the  more  intelligent  of  the 
soldiers,  they  are  no  doubt  a  great  incentive  to  uphold  the 
honour  of  the  regiment. 


Note  to  Lake  George  and  Ticonderooa. — This  impor- 
tant position,  situated  on  Lake  Champlain  near  the  foot  of 
ihe  Horicon,  (called  by  the  English,  Lake  George,  and  by 
^he  French,  St.  Sacrament,)  was  first  fortified  by  the  French, 
and  was  the  point  from  which  they  made  so  many  incursions, 
in  conjunction  with  the  Indians,  upon  the  English  settle- 
ments. Lord  Abercrombie  led  an  army  of  nearly  16,000 
men  against  it  in  the  year  1658 ;  but  was  defeated  with  a 
loss  of  2000  men,  and  one  of  his  most  distinguished  officers, 
Lord  Howe,  who  fell  at  the  head  of  one  of  the  advance  col- 
umns. In  the  following  year  it  surrendered  to  General 
Amherst,  who  led  a  force  of  nearly  equal  number  against 
it.  Its  surprise  and  capture  by  Ethan  Allen  at  the  com- 
mencement of  our  revolution,  is,  we  presume,  familiar  to 
every  American,  as  also  the  fact  of  Burgoyn^*s  getting 
heavy  cannon  upon  the  neighbouring  mountain  which  had 
heretofore  been  considered  impracticable,  and  from  which 
the  works  were  entirely  commanded.  The  necessary  with- 
drawal of  the  army  by  St.  Claiii  after  blowing  up  the  works, 
is  as  related  in  the  text. 


APPENDIX* 


261 


ig  on  the 
iO  actions 
g  in  the 
lowed  in 
istocratic 
luded  to, 
A  under- 
it  of  the 
hold  the 


8  impor- 
le  foot  of 
s,  and  by 
I  French, 
cursions, 
h  settle- 
y  16,000 
1  with  a 
officers, 
ince  col- 
General 
against 
le  com- 
niliar  to 
getting 
lich  had 
which 
ry  with- 
works, 


Note  to  Bass  Fishing. — Crew  of  the  Essex  Frigate.— 
In  the  bloody  and  heroic  defence  of  the  Essex,  in  which, 
out  of  a  crew  of  two  hundred  and  fifVy-iive  men,  one  hun- 
dred and  fifty-three  were  killed  and  wounded!  a  number 
of  instances  of  individual  daring  and  devotion  are  recorded 
of  the  common  sailors.  Besides  the  act  of  Ripley,  which  is 
mentioned  in  the  text,  one  man  received  a  cannon  ball 
through  his  body,  and  exclaimed  in  the  agonies  of  death— 
"  Never  mind,  shipmates,  I  die  for  free  trade  and  sailor^s 
rights."  Another  expired  inciting  his  shipmates  to  *^  fight 
for  liberty !" — and  another,  Benjamin  Hazen,  having  dressed 
himself  in  a  clean  shirt  and  jacket,  threw  himself  over- 
board, declaring,  that  "he  would  never  be  incarcerated 
in  an  English  prison."  An  old  man-of-war's-man  who 
was  in  her,  informed  the  writer,  that  her  sides  were  so 
decayed  by  exposure  to  the  climate  in  which  she  had  been 
cruizing,  that  the  dust  flew  like  smoke  from  every  shot  that 
came  through  the  bulwarks,  and  that  at  the  close  of  the  ac- 
tion, when  the  Essex  was  lying  perfectly  helpless,  a  target 
for  the  two  heavy  British  ships,  riddled  by  every  ball  from 
their  long  guns,  without  the  ability  to  return  a  single  shot- 
he  was  near  the  quarter-deck  and  heard  Commodore  Porter 
walking  up  and  down  with  hurried  steps,  repeatedly  strike 
his  breast  and  exclaim,  in  great  apparent  agony — "  My 
Heaven  ! — is  there  no  shot  for  me  1" 


Note  to  Bass  Fishing. — Mutiny  on  Board  the  Essex 
Frigate. — ^While  the  Essex  was  lying  at  the  Marquesas 
Islands,  recruiting  and  refreshing  her  crew  from  one  of  the 
long  and  arduous  cruises  in  the  Pacific,  Commodore  Porter 
vQ,a  informed  through  a  servant  of  one  of  the  officers,  that  a 


262 


APPENDIX. 


ii'  i 


i  : 


i 


,  ; 


mutiny  had  been  planned,  and  was  on  the  eve  of  consomma- 
tion.  That  it  was  the  intention  of  the  mutineers  to  rise  upon 
the  officers — ^take  possession  of  the  ship— and,  after  having 
remained  as  long  as  they  found  agreeable  at  the  island,  to 
hoist  the  black  flag  and  "  cruize  on  their  own  account*"-?- 
Having  satisfied  himself  of  the  truth  of  the  inforniati(Mi, 
Commodore  Porter  ascended  to  the  quarter-deck,  and  ordered 
all  the  crew  to  be  summoned  afl.  Waiting  till  the  last  man 
had  come  from  below,  he  informed  them  that  he  understood 
that  a  mutiny  was  on  foot,  and  that  he  had  summoned  them 
for  the  purpose  of  inquiring  into  its  truth. — "  Those  men 
who  are  in  favour  of  standing  by  the  ship  and  her  officers," 
said  the  commodore,  "  will  go  over  to  the  starboard  side — 
those  who  are  against  them  will  remain  where  they  are." 
The  crew,  to  a  man,  moved  over  to  the  starboard  side.  The 
ship  was  still  as  the  grave.  Fixing  his  eyes  on  them  steadily 
imd  sternly  for  a  few  moments — the  commodore  said — 
"Robert  White — step  out."  The  man  obeyed,  standing 
pale  and  agitated — guilt  stamped  on  every  lineament  of  his 
countenance — in  front  of  his  comrades.  The  commodore 
looked  at  him  a  moment — then  seizing  a  cutlass  from  the 
nearest  rack,  said,  in  a  suppressed  voice,  but  in  tones  so 
deep  that  they  rung  like  a  knell  upon  the  ears  of  the  guilty 
among  the  crew — "  Villain  ! — you  are  the  ringleader  of  this 
mutiny — ^jump  overboard  !"  The  man  dropt  on  his  knees, 
imploring  for  mercy — saying  that  he  could  not  swim.  *'  Then 
drown,  you  scoundrel !"  said  the  commodore,  springing  to- ' 
wards  him  to  cut  him  down — "  overboard  instantly !" — and 
the  man  jumped  over  the  side  of  the  ship.  He  then  turned 
to  the  trembling  crew,  and  addressed  them  with  much  feel- 
ing— the  tears  standing  upon  his  bronzed  cheek  as  he  spoke. 


1^: 


APPENDIX. 


263 


nsamma- 
rise  upon 
!r  having 
aland,  to 
ount."-!- 
^rmatioHf 
i  ordered 
last  man 
iderstood 
3d  them 
ose  men 
►fficers," 
I  side — 
jy  are." 
e.    The 
steadily 
said — 
tanding 
of  his 
modore 
om  the 
ones  so 
guilty 
of  this 
kneeSi 
Then 
ing  to- 
— and 
turned 
feel- 
poke. 


He  asked  them  what  he  had  done,  that  his  shir  should  be  dis- 
graced by  a  mutiny.  He  asked  whether  he  had  ever  dishon- 
oured the  flag— whether  he  had  ever  treated  them  with  other 
than  kindness — whether  they  had  ever  been  wanting  for  any 
thing  to  their  comfort,  that  discipline  and  the  rules  of  the  ser* 
vice  would  allow — and  which  it  was  in  his  power  to  give.  At 
the  close  of  his  address,  he  said — "  Men ! — before  I  came  on 
deck,  I  laid  a  train  to  the  magazine ! — and  I  would  have  blown 
all  on  board  into  eternity,  before  my  ship  should  have  been  dis- 
graced by  a  successful  mutiny — I  never  would  have  survived 
the  dishonour  of  my  ship ! — go  to  your  duty.*'  The  men 
were  much  atfected  by  the  commodore's  address,  and  imme- 
diately returned  to  their  duty,  showing  every  sign  of  contri- 
tion. They  were  a  good  crew,  but  had  been  seduced  by  the 
allurements  of  the  islands,  and  the  plausible  representations 
of  a  villain.  'J'liat  they  did  their  duty  to  their  flag,  it  is 
only  necessary  to  say — that  the  same  crew  fought  the  ship 
afterwards  against  the  Phebe,  and  Cherub,  in  the  harbour  of 
Valparaiso,  where,  though  the  American  flag  descended — it 
descended  in  a  blaze  of  glory  which  will  long  shine  on  the 
pages  of  history.  But  mark  the  sequel  of  this  mutiny — and 
let  those  who,  in  the  calm  security  of  their  fire-sides,  are  so 
severe  upon  the  course  of  conduct  pursued  by  officers  in  such 
critical  situations,  see  how  much  innocent  blood  wou'd  have 
been  saved,  if  White  had  been  cut  down  instantly,  or  hung  at 
the  yard  arm.  As  he  went  overboard,  he  succeeded  in  reaching 
a  canoe  floating  at  a  little  distance  and  paddled  ashore.  Some 
few  months  afterwards,  when  Lieutenant  Gamble  of  the  Ma- 
rines was  at  the  islands,  in  charge  of  one  of  the  large  prizes, 
short  handed  and  in  distress,  this  same  White,  at  the  head  of 


264 


APPENDIX. 


r ' 


a  party  of  natives,  attacked  the  ship,  killed  two  of  the  offi- 
cers and  a  number  of  the  men,  and  it  was  with  great  diffi- 
culty that  she  was  prevented  from  falling  into  their  hands. 
The  blood  of  those  innocent  men,  and  the  lives  of  two  meri- 
torious offipers  would  have  been  spared,  if  the  wretch  had 
been  put  to  instant  death — as  was  the  commodore's  intention. 
It  will  be  recollected,  that  the  Essex,  in  getting  under  way, 
out  of  the  harbour  of  Valparaiso,  carried  away  her  foretop- 
mast  in  a  squall,  and  being  thus  unmanageable,  came  to 
anchor  in  the  supposed  protection  of  a  neutral  port — never- 
theless the  Phebe,  frigate,  and  Cherub,  sloop- of- war,  attacked 
her  in  this  position — the  former  with  her  long  guns,  selecting 
her  distance-— cutting  her  up  at  her  leisure — while  the  Es- 
sex, armed  only  with  carronades,  lay  perfectly  helpless — her 
shot  falling  short  of  the  Phebe,  although  they  reached  the 
Cherub,  which  was  forced  to  get  out  of  their  range.  "  1  was 
standing,"  said  my  informant,  then  a  midshipman  only  four- 
teen years  old,  '•  I  was  standing  at  the  side  of  one  of  our  bow 
chasers,  (the  only  long  guns  v^e  had,)  which  we  had  run  aft 
out  of  the  stern  port— when  the  Phebe  bore  up,  and  ran  un- 
der our  stern  to  rake  us.  As  she  came  within  half-pistol 
shot  (! )  she  gave  us  her  whole  broadside  at  the  same  instant. 
— I  recollect  it  well !  "  said  the  officer — "  for  as  I  saw  the 
flash,  I  involuntarily  closed  my  eyes — expecting  that  she  would 
have  blown  us  out  of  the  water — and  she  certainly  would 
have  sunk  us  on  the  spot,  but  firing  too  high,  her  shot  cut 
our  masts  and  rigging  all  to  pief^es,  doing  little  injury  to  the 
hull.  Singular  as  it  may  seem,  the  discharge  of  our  one 
gun  caused  more  slaughter  than  the  whole  of  their  broadside, 
for  while  we  had  but  one  man  wounded,  the  shot  from  our 
gun  killeu  two  of  the  men  at  the  wheel  of  the  Phebe,  and 


APPEND IZ. 


266 


glancing  with  a  deep  gouge  on   the  main-mast,  mortally 
wounded  her  first  Lieutenant,  who  died  on  the  following  day 


Long  Island  Sound — New  England  Traditions. — 
There  are  few  countries  where  traditions  and  legends  are 
handed  down  from  generation  to  generation  with  more  fidelity 
than  in  New  England,  more  particularly  along  the  sea-coast 
and  the  shores  of  the  Sound.  The  "  fire  ship  "  is  supposed 
even  now  by  the  old  fishermen  to  be  seen  cruising  occasion- 
ally in  the  vicinity  of  Block  Island  in  the  furious  storms  of 
thunder  and  lightning.  The  tradition  is,  that  she  was  taken 
by  pirates — all  hands  murdered,  and  abandoned  after  being 
set  on  fire  by  the  bucaneers.  Some  accounts  state  that  a  large 
white  horse  which  was  on  board,  was  left  near  the  foremast 
to  perish  in  the  flames — and  in  storms  of  peculiarly  terriffic 
violence  that  she  may  be  seen,  rushing  along  enveloped  in 
fire,  the  horse  stamping  and  pawing  at  the  heel  of  the  fore- 
mast, her  phantom  crew  assembled  at  quarters.  In  the  early 
part  of  the  last  century,  a  ship  came  ashore  a  few  miles  be- 
yond Newport,  on  one  of  the  beaches — all  sails  set — the 
table  prepared  for  dinner,  but  the  food  untouched,  ar,  J  no 
living  thing  on  board  of  her.  It  was  never  ascertained 
what  had  become  of  her  crew — but  it  was  supposed  that  she 
had  been  abandoned  in  some  moment  of  alarm,  and  that  they 
all  perished,  although  the  vessel  arrived  in  safety. 

The  phantom  horse  will  recall  to  mind  a  real  incident 
which  occurred  not  long  since  in  the  conflagration  of  one  of 
the  large  steamboats  on  Lake  Erie.  A  fine  race  horse  was 
on  board,  and  secured,  as  is  usual,  forward.  Of  course  his 
safety  was  not  looked  to,  while  all  were  making  vain  efforts 
to  save  themselves  from  their  horrible  fate.      As  the  flames 


('  i 


ll 


it 


266 


APPENDIX. 


came  near  him  he  succeeded  in  tearing  himself  loose  from 
his  fastenings,  rushing  franticly  through  the  fire  and  smoke 
fore  and  aft,  trampling  down  the  unfortunate  victims  that 
were  in  his  way,  adding  still  more  horror  to  a  scene  which 
imagination  can  hardly  realize,  until  frenzied  with  the  pain 
and  agony  of  the  fire,  he  plunged  overboard  and  perished. 

But  the  favourite  and  most  cherished  traditions  are  those 
relating  to  hidden  treasure.  The  writer  well  recollects  one 
io  y^hich  his  attention  was  attracted  in  his  childhood.     Mr. 

— ,  inhabiting  one  of  those  fine  old  mansions  in  Newport, 

which  iiaJ  been  built  fifty  years  before,  by  an  English  gentle- 
man of  ^xirtune,  where  taste  and  caprice  had  been  indulged 
to  the  extreme,  and  where  closets,  and  beaufets,  and  cellars^ 
and  pantries,  appeared  to  meet  one  at  every  turn,  was  enga- 
ged late  one  winter's  night  writing  in  his  study,-  when  he 
found  it  necessary  to  replenish  his  fire  with  fuel.  The  ser- 
vants having  retired,  he  took  a  candle  and  went  himself  to  the 
cellar  to  procure  it,  and  as  he  passed  the  vault  called  the  "  wine 
cellar,"  his  attention  was  attracted  by  alight  streaming  through 
the  key-hole  of  the  door.  He  stopped  a  moment  and  called  out 
supposing  that  some  of  the  family  w^ere  in  the  apartment— 
but  instantly  the  light  vanished.  He  stepped  up  to  the  door 
and  endeavoured  to  open  it,  but  found  to  his  surprise  that  it 
was  fastened, — a  thing  that  was  unusual  as  the  door  constantly 
stood  ajar.  Calling  out  again,  "  who's  there  ?"  without  re- 
ceiving any  answer,  he  placed  his  foot  against  the  door,  and 
forced  it  open,  when  a  sight  met  his  eyes,  which  for  a  mo- 
ment chained  him  to  the  spot.  In  the  centre  of  the  cellar 
in  a  deep  grave  which  had  been  already  dug,  and  leaning 
upon  his  spade,  was  a  brawny  negro,  his  shirt  sleeves  rolled 
up  to  his  shoulders,  and  the  sweat  trickling  down  his  glisten- 


APPENDIX 


267 


ing  black  visage,  while  on  the  pile  of  earth  made  from  the 
excavation,  stood  another  negro,  a  drawn  sword  in  one  hand, 
a  lantern  with  the  light  just  extinguished  in  the  other,  and 
an  open  bible  with  two  hazle  rods  across  it,  lying  at  his  feut 
— these  swart  labourers  the  moment  that  the  door  was  thrown 
open,  making  the  most  earnest  signs  for  silence.     As  socr*  as 

Mr.  couM  command  his  voice,  he  demanded  the 

meaning  of  what  he  saw  and  what  they  were  about.  They 
both  simultaneously  then  declared  tha\'  the  charm  was  broken 
by  his  voice.  One  of  the  worthies,  who  was  the  groom  of 
the  family,  had  dn  >med  five  nights  in  succession,  that  old 

Mr.  E the  builder  of  the  house,  had  buried  a  bootful  (!) 

of  gold  in  that  cellar — and  on  comparing  notes  with  his 
brother  dreamer,  he  found  that  his  visions  also  pointed  to 
treasure  in  the  old  house,  and  they  had  proceeded  secundem 
artem  to  its  attainment,  both  vehemently  declaring  that  they 

intended  to  give  part  of  the  treasure  to  Mr. .     Of 

course,  the  door  being  opened,  the  strange  negro  w^as  required 
to  add  the  darkness  of  his  visage  to  that  of  night,  while  the 
groom  was  on  pain  of  instant  dismission,  together  with  the 
threat  of  the  ridicule  of  the  whole  town,  directed  to  fill  up 
the  grave,  and  thereafter  to  let  the  buried  treasure  sleep 
where  its  owner  had  seen  fit  to  deposit  it. 


1'^ 


.  >    ■    ■  : 


.^,/«V?!' 


'( 


■■Tl^: 


NEW    WORKS, 


AND 


New  Editions  of  Established  Books, 

PUBLISHED   BY 

D,    APPLETON  4-   CO. 


NBIV-TORK 


BURNET'S  HISTORY  OF  THE  REFORMATION. 

The  History  of  the  Reformation  of  the  Church  of  England,  by 
Gilbert  Burnet.  D.D.,  late  Lord  Bishop  of  Salisbury — with  the 
Collection  of  Records  and  a  copious  Index,  revised  and  cor- 
rected, with  additional  Notes  and  a  Preface,  by  the  Rev.  E. 
Nares,  D.D.,  late  Professor  of  Modem  History  in  the  Univer. 
sity  of  Oxford.  Illustrated  v  ith  a  Frontispiece  and  twenty, 
three  engraved  Portraits,  forming  four  elegant  8vo.  vols.  $8  00. 

The  Mtabliihed  character  of  Blthojp  Burnet'i  Hiitory  of  the  Reformation  as  a  itaudard  work, 
uidnioei  valuable  hittorlcal  authoruy,  render  It  unncceaury  to  enter  Into  any  analyiii  of  ila 
meriti,  further  than  briefly  to  state  the  advantages  of  this  edition  over  all  others. 

Often  as  this  celebrated  History  of  the  Reformation  of  the  Church  of  £n([land  has  been  printed 
and  published,  often  as  it  has  been  rend,  and  com  inual  y  as  it  has  been  referred  to  by  siiccesaive 
writers,  interested  in  the  Important  subject  of  which  it  treats ;  yet  one  thing  seems  to  have  been 
oonatanily  overloolced,  namely,  the  necessity  of  a  distinct  Preface  to  point  out,  and  to  explain  to 
na  lers  in  general,  the  particular  character  of  the  publication. 

1 '.  is  a  work  of  too  great  magnitude  to  be  reptattedW  read  thrffligh,  and  though  iis  eminence  as  an 
historical  worli,  must  always  M  such  as  to  render  it  unperaiively  necessary  tur  "ertain  writers  to 
consult  iis  puges,  yut  in  every  reprint  of  it,  ii  should  be  contemplated  by  the  publisher  not  meiel/ 
as  a  book  ol  leference,  but  as  one  to  be  rend  like  other  books  of  History  regularly  from  the  begin- 
nine  to  the  end,  not  by  prolesaed  scholars  only,  or  by  persons  already  venied  in  history,  civil  or  ec^ 
clesiastical.  b'li  by  sucii  as  may  be  only  beginning  their  historical  inquiries  and  researaMH-youaf 
readers  and  mere  students. 

Soarcelv  any  oitier  book  ofequal  importance,  perhaps,  stands  so  much  in  need  of  preliminary  ex- 
pUnatioiw  as  this  great  work  ot  the  celebrated  writer  whose  name  it  bears.  And  it  mu.-t  often,  we 
should  think,  have  been  a  rnaller  of  just  surprise  to  the  readers  of  this  history,  that,  in  the  editions 
hi'iierto  pubiiahed,  the  errors  in  ihe  first  and  second  vulumea  have  been  reprinted,  which  the  author 
b'.mself  noticed  at  the  end  of  the  third  volume.  In  the  present  e'lition  tlie  text  will  be  fouud  conect- 
Ad  as  it  should  be,  and  many  explanatory  notee  added  throughout  the  work. 

*' The  extract  above  from  the  editor's  preface  defines  the  peculiar  merits 
of  this  splendid  work,  which  is  at  once  th  j  cheapest  and  the  most  elegant 
edition  which  we  have  ever  seen,  of  this  well  known  and  invaluable  his 
tory.  We  were  fed  on  the  old  folio  edition  of  Burnet  in  the  days  of  our 
cliildhood,  and  the  impressions  which  its  facts  and  its  illustrattons  then 
made  on  the  mind,  have  never  been  effaced,  but  have  had  their  full  share 
in  making  us  thoroughly  Protestant,  and  aggressive  enemies  of  the  church 
of  Rome.  We  are  therefore  most  hearthily  rejoiced  to  see  that  Appleton 
4c  Co.  have  issued  this  standard  work  in  four  elegant  volumes,  at  only 
two  dollars  a  volume ;  and  when  wo  look  at  its  numerous  and  fine  en- 
gravings of  many  distinguished  reformers,  and  its  more  than  two  thousand 
pages  of  reading  matter  on  handsome  paper  in  elegant  type,  we  cannot 
doubt  that  thousands  of  our  readers  wiil  wisU  to  introduce  it  into  their 
families  without  uelay."— iV.  Y,  Observer, 


GUIZOT'S  HISTORY  OF  CIVILIZATION. 

General  History  of  Civilization  in  Europe,  from  the  Fall  of  the  Roman 
Empire  to  the  French  Revolution.  Translated  from  the  French  of  M. 
Oulzot,  Professor  of  History  to  la  Faculty  des  Lettres  of  Paris,  and 
Minister  of  Public  Instruction.  Third  American  edition,  with  Explana- 
tory Notes,  (adapted  for  the  use  of  Colleges  and  High  Schools,)  by  C.  S. 
Henry,  D.D.,  Professor  of  Philosophy  and  History  in  the  University  of 
the  city  of  New-York.    One  handsomely  printed  vol.,  12mo.    $100. 


CARLYLE  ON  HISTORY  AND  HEROES. 

On  Heroes,  Hero- Worship,  and  the  Heroic  in  History.  Six  Lectures,  re- 
ported with  Emendations  and  Additions.  By  Thomas  Carlyle,  Author 
of  the  French  Revolution,  Sartor  Resartus,  &c.  Elegantly  printed  in 
one  vol  ISmo.    Second  edition.    $1  00. 


THE  NATURAL  HISTORY  OF  SOCIETY 

m  THE  BARBAROUS  AND  CIVILIZED  STATE. 

An  Essay  towards  Discovering  the  Origin  and  Course  of  Human  Improve- 
ment. By  W.  Cooke  Taylor,  LL.D.,  &c.,  of  Trinity  College,  Dublin. 
Handsomely  printed  on  fine  paper.    3  vols.  12mo.    ^2  35. 


THE  LIFE  OF  ALEXANDER  HAMILTON. 

Edited  by  his  son,  John  C.  Hamilton.    3  vols.  8vo.  $5  00. 

"  Wo  oordiallT  recommend  the  peruial  and  diligent  itudy  of  then  volumei,  exJiibitin);  a*  (Imt 
do,  much  valuabte  matter  relative  to  'he  Revolution,  <hee«lal>liBhment  o(  the  Federal  ComUtuiioB, 
and  odHir  important  ev^n*-  in  the  annali  of  our  oountry."  -^eto-  York  Review, 


MRS.  AUSTIN'S  GERMAN  WRITERS* 

Fragments  from  German  Prose  Writers,  translated  by  Mrs.  Austin.  Illus- 
ti-ated  with  Bibliographical  aud  Critical  Notes.  1  vol.  12mo.  Elegantly 
printed  on  fine  white  paper.    $1  35. 

A  DICTIONARY 

OF  ARTS,   MANUFACTURES,  AND  MINES; 

Containing  a  clear  Exposition  of  their  Principles  and  Practice.  By  Andrew 
Ure,  M.D.,  F.R.S  ,  Ac.  &c.  Illustrated  with  1241  Engravings,  and  con- 
taining upwards  of  1400  closely  printed  pages.    $5  00. 

In  evwy  point  of  view  a  work  like  the  prefent  can  but  be  .t^irdfcd  at  a  benefit  done  to  theorelloai 
•eieiice.  to  commerce  anil  indntiry,  atiid  an  iuiportant  addition  toaipeciesof  literature  tlie  exclti- 
•ive  production  of  the  pie«ent  century,  a-.Kl  the  prrwkit  itate  of  peui'e  ani  civilixa- 
tion.  Criiicisrne  in  favour  of  it)  intriniic  value  to  all  claasee  of  the  community  might  be 
nodnced  (if  space  would  fwnnlt,)  from  upward*  of  ihice  hunclnd  «f  lit*  leading  jonraiUa  la 
Etwape  «od  tliu  country. 


COWPER'S  COMPLETE  POETICAL  WORKS. 

The  CompIetA  Poeticnl  Works  of  Wm.  Cowp«r,  Esq.,  inoludingrthe  Hymns  and 
Trnnsliitidnfi  fntm  Miul.  Giiioit,  Miltoii,  Sic  ,aud  Adam,  a  Sacred  Draiua,from 
the  Italian  of  Buttisla  Andreini,  with  a  Memoir  of  the  Author,  by  the  Rev. 
Henry  SiebUiiig,  A.M.  Two  elegantly  printed  volumes,  400  \)K>'*  i^ach, 
IGmo.  with  beautiful  frontispipces.    $1  75, 

Thu  it  the  OHljf  complete  American  eiition  of  the  true  Chrittian  Poet. 

BURNS'  COMPLETE  POETICAL  WORKS. 

The  complete  Poetical  Works  of  Robert  Bums  with  Explanatory  and  Olossarial 
Notes,  and  ti.  Life  of  the  Author,  by  James  Carrie,  M.D.,  uniform  in  styl* 
with  Cowper.    $1  25. 

This  it  tbenoM  complete  edition  which  has  been  published,  and  contains  the  whole  of  the 
poetry  cuniiiriiied  in  the  edition  lately  edited  by  Curinin|;liKin,  as  well  a«  some  additional 
piecea;  and  ancli  notes  have  been  added  as  are  calculated  to  illuatiate  the  manner*  and 
OUtonw  of  Scotiand,  ao  •«  to  render  the  whole  more  iuieihgible  to  the  £ii£liab  reader. 

MILTON'S  COMPLETE  POETICAL  WORKS. 

The  Complete  Poetical  Works  of  John  Milton,  with  Explanatory  Notes  and 
a  Life  of  the  Author,  by  the  Rev.  Henry  Stebbing,  AM.  Beautifully  illus- 
trated—uniform in  style  with  Cowper,  Burns,  and  Scott.     (1  25. 

The  Latin  and  Italian  Poems  are  included  in  this  edition. 

Mr.  St'ibbinK'a  notes  will  be  fuund  very  useful  in  elucidating  the  learned  alluaioni  with 
which  the  text  abounds,  and  they  are  aUo  valuable  lor  the  cofirect  appreciation  witli  wliicli 
tlie  writer  directs  attention  to  the  beauties  of  thu  Author. 

SCOTT'S  PQETICAIi  WORKS. 

The  Poetical  Works  of  Sir  Walter  Scott.  Bart. — Containing  Lay  of  the  Last 
Minstrel,  Marmion,  Lady  of  the  Lake,  Do''  Roderick,  Rokeby,  Ballads, 
Lyrics,  and  Songs,  with  a  Life  of  the  Auth  ,  uniform  with  Cowper,  Burns, 
&c.    $1  25. 

*'  Walter  Scott  is  the  most  popular  of  all  Oie  poets  of  the  present  day  and  derervedly  so. 
He  des<'ribes  that  which  is  nio.it  easily  and  generally  un  leraiood  wilU  more  vivacity  and  effect 
than  any  other  writer.  His  style  is  clear,  Uuwing  and  transparent ;  his  sentiments,  of  wbicii 
hiaatyle  i«  an  easy  and  natural  medium,  are  common  to  him  with  bia  readers. 

SOUTHEY'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 

The  complete  Poetical  Works  of  Robert  Southey,  Esq.,  LL.D.  The  ten  vol- 
ume London  edition  in  one  elegant  royal  8vo.  volume,  with  a  fine  portrait  and 
vignette.    93  50. 

try-  This  edition,  which  the  author  has  arranged  and  revised  with  the  aame  care  aa  if  it 
were  intended  Tor  posthumous  publication,  includes  many  pieces  which  either  have  never 
before  b>en  cidlerled,  or  have  hitherto  remained  unpubliHhed. 

Prelinii>.ary  nutices  are  affixel  to  the  long  poems,— the  whole  of  the  notes  retained,— aad 
such  additional  ones  incorporated  aa  the  autuor,  since  the  first  pubUcation,  has  seen  occasion 
(0  insert. 

Contents. 

The  Curse  of  Kehama. 
Roderick  the  last  of  the  Goths, 
The  Poet's  Pilgrimage  to  Waterloo. 
Lay  of  the  Laureate. 
Vision  of  Judgment,  ^c. 

"  At  theaceof  sixty-three  I  have  undertaken  to  collect  iinri  edit  my  poetical  works,  with  the  last 
■corrections  that  I  can  expect  to  bestow  upon  ihem.  'I'hey  hiivu  obtained  a  reputntion  equal  to  my 
wisties.  ....  Thus  lo  collect  and  revise  (hem  is  a  duly  wliioli  I  owe  to  that  part  of  the  public  bjr 
whom  they  have  been  auspiciously  received,  and  to  Ihoae  wlio  will  talte  a  lively  uoocern  in  my  good 
1  when  I  shall  ha  Yd  Uepacied.*'— iiMir«c(/rom  Author'!  Preface. 


Joan  of  Are. 

Juvenile  and  Minor  PoeiM. 

Thalaba  the  Destroyer. 

Madoc. 

Ballads  and  Metrical  Tales, 


I  ' 


i 


ff 


THE  BOOK  OF  THE  NAVY; 

Comprising  a  general  History  of  the  Amerirati  Marino,  and  particular  ac* 
counfH  of  air  the  most  celebrated  Naval  BattieH,  from  the  Declaration  of 
Independence  to  the  i  'sent  time,  compiled  Irom  the  beat  authoritiea. 
By  John  Frout,  Profess  r  of  Jlelles  I.ettres  In  the  High  School  c'Phila- 
deipliia.  With  an  Ap|)endrx,  containi)ig  Nuval  Songs,  Anecdc<t'/!^  ^c. 
Embellished  with  numerous  original  Engravings  and  Portraits  oi  .ViUn* 
guislied  Naval  Commandera.  Complete  in  one  Imndsome  volume  octavo, 
f  1  dO. 

PICTORIAL  LIFE  OF  NAPOLEON. 

History  of  Napoleon  Bonaparte,  translated  from  the  French  of  M.  Laurent 
de  L'Ardecae,  witii  five  hundred  spirited  illustrations,  after  designs  by 
Horace  Veinet,  and  twenty  original  portraits  engraved  in  the  bebt  style. 
Complete  u;  two  handsome  volumes,  octavo,  about  500  pages  each.  $4  00. 

PICTORIAL  ROBINSON  CRUSOE. 

The  Life  and  Adventures  of  Robinson  Crusoe.  By  Daniel  De  Foe.  With 
a  Memoir  of  the  Author,  and  an  Essay  on  his  Writings,  illustrated  with 
nearly  500  spirited  Engravings,  by  the  celebrated  French  4rtis(  Grand- 
vUie,  forming  one  elegant  volume,  octavo,  of  SOO  pages,    tl  75. 

PICTORIAL  VICAR  OF  WAKEFIELD. 

The  Vicar  of  Wakefield.  By  Oliver  Goldsmith.  Elegantly  illustrated 
with  800  hundred  Engravings,  making  a  beautiful  volume,  octavo,  of 
S50  pages.    $1  35. 

THE  AMERICAN  In  EGYPT; 

WITH  BAMBLES  "HBOVOH 

AnU.B-Petr»9  s^td  the  Holy  Land,  duriug  the  yean  1839-40. 
By  James  Ewin?  Cooic;'.    Illustrated  with  numerous  Steel  Engavings, 

also  Etchings  itvid  I>ei^>  jns  by  Johnston,— one  handsome  volume  octavo» 

of  610  pagev. 

No  utbei  voTum  >  HK?tt  wc  give  tb«  reader  to  true  •  picture  of  what  be  vonM  be  likely  t* 
■ee  and  tiie<  t  m  i^gyt't.  Kn  utiirr  book  is  more  practical  and  plain  in  iia  picture  uf  preciaeljr 
what  the  traveller  bimMl!  vf'Al  meet.  Other  writers  have  one  sccouitt  to  give  of  their  journey 
va  paper,  and  another  to  leiaie  in  coavcrsation.  Mi.  Cooley  has  but  one  story  for  the  flra> 
■ide  circia  and  the  printed  page.— BrMA«r  Jonathan. 

THE  DAUGHTERS  OF  ENGLAND : 

Their  Position  in  Society,  Character,  and  Responsibilities.  By  Mrs.  Ellis, 
author  of  "  The  Women  of  England."  Complete  in  one  handsome  vol> 
ume  12mo.     75  cents. 

GEMS  FRO^  TR/  TELLERS. 

Illustrative  of  various  passages  in  the  Holy  Scriptures,  with  nearlv  100 
Engravings.  Among  the  authorities  quoted  will  be  found  the  following 
distinguished  names :  Harmer,  Laborde,  Lane,  Madden,  Clarke,  Pocoke, 
Chandler  Malcom,  Hartley,  Russel,  Jowitt,  Carne,  Shaw,  Morier,  Nei* 
buhr,  Bruce,  Calmet,  H.  Belzoni,  Lord  Lindsay,  fto.  4cc.  I  vol.  ISmo. 
$1  00. 

SPIRITUAL  CHRISTIANITY. 

Lectures  on  Spiritual  Christianity.    By  Isaac  Taylor,  author  of  "Spiritual 
Despotism,"  Ac.  Ac.  l,vol.  12mo.  $0  7*. 


ticular  »c« 
:laration  of 
tuthorities. 
olc'Phlla- 

nke  octavo. 


M.  Laurent 

designs  by 

i  bebt  style. 

ach.  94  00. 


Foe.  With 
itrated  with 
rtist  Grand- 
I  7tt. 

.D. 

r  illustrated 
,  octavo,  of 


-o 


B39..40. 

EngavinKif 
lime  octavo, 

ttid  b*  likely  t* 
ire  of  pteciMly 
>rU:etr  journey 
iry  for  the  ttre- 


y  Mrs.  Ellii, 
ndsonie  vol- 


neariy  100 

e  following 

ke,  Pocoke, 

lorier,  Nei- 

vol.  ISmo. 


NEW  WORKS  &  NEW  EDITIONS. 


Tlie  undersigned  have  thei>]Gn»ure  nf  prPSRntingtn  you  a  copy  of 
their  Cuialogue  of  impnriant  Publications  in  tlie  sovitral  departments 
of  LilerHture.  Tliey  would  particuliirly  direct  your  nttontion  to  tlint 
ailmirable  series  of  devotional  works  by  Bisiiop  Pati'  c,  DrsHop 
Wilson,  Doctor  Sutton  and  others,  wliich  hnvc  the  un- 

qualitird  coiuniend)ilioii  of  the  Cliurch.    In  n  '  '-om 

Bishop  VViuttinoham,  lie  says,  ■'  I  had  forgoiu  ly 

very  great  satts/actton  at  your  commencement  ol  vo- 

tional  works,  lately  re  published  in  Oxford  and  Loiuion."  A^'ain, 
Bishop  Doane  says  ol  this, "  I  write  tu  express  my  thanks  to  you  for 
reprints  ot  the  Oxford  books ;  flrst,  for  reprinting  such  books,  and  sc- 
condly,  in  such  a  style  1  sincerely  hope  you  may  be  encouraged  to 
go  on,  and  give  them  all  to  us.  You  will  dignify  the  art  of  print- 
ing, and  you  will  do  great  service  to  the  best  interests  ol  the  coun- 
try." The  undersigned  also  beg  to  refer  to  their  beautiful  edition 
of  the  Poetical  Works  of  SbuxriEY,  also  to  that  excellent  series  of 
'Tales  for  tlie  People  and  their  Ciiildreu,"  bylVlAKv  Howitt  and 
ohters,  and  to  that  extensive  scries  of  popular  works  for  general 
reading,  uniting  an  interesting  styin  with  soundness  of  Christian 
principle,  such  as  the  works  of  Aruhdisuop  Magek,  Guizot, 
John  Anokll  James,  Miss  Sinclair,  Rev.  Uobert  Philip, 
Rev.  AuGtrsTua  Wm.  IIaab,  Jno.  Pyb  Smith,  Predeiuok 
Augustus  SchuKoel,  Isaac  Taylor,  Dr.  W  C  Taylor,  Rev. 
Dr.  Spraoub,  &c.  &c.  They  also  publish  those  very  populiir 
Voyages  and  Travels  by  Rev.  H.  Southgate,  of  the  Episcopal 
Mission,  and  Fitch  W.Taylor,  together  wiili  the  Memoirs  of 
General  Alexander  Hamilton  by  his  son ;  and  will  continue 
to  publish  standard  and  popular  works,  and  trust  to  merit  a  con- 
tinuance of  public  favour. 

D.  APPLETON  &  Co. 

Emporium  far  Standard  Literature, 
200  Broadway,  New- York. 

J):^  D.  A.  &  Co.'s  CatalDgue  of  English  Books  (critical  and 
explanatory)  will  shortly  be  ready  for  delivery. 


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SCHLEGEL'S  PHILOSOPHY  OF  HISTORY. 

Th«  Philoaophy  of  Histoij,  in  a  cnurao  of  Lectum  delivered  at 
Vienna,  by  Frkdbrick  vom  ScBLtaBL,  translated  from  tlie<3er- 
man,  wltb  it  Memoir  of  tli«  au'hor,  by  J.  B.  RoBaRTaon.  Hand- 
■umely  printed  on  fine  paper.    2  vols.  Vimo. 

"To  do  a  mere  reviewer's  justice  to  such  •  work  woald  require  many  nnmbert 
of  our  journal.  It  is  quite  unnecesiwry  to  do  more  than  direct  attention  to  a 
production  wbicli,  beyond  all  others,  has  contributed  to  esKh  and  purify  modem 
science  and  literature— a  work  to  which,  in  the  eloquent  words  of  a  great  man, 
'  we  owe  the  attempts  at  least  to  turn  philosophy's  eye  inward  on  the  soul, and  to 
compound  the  mwrt  sacred  elements  of  its  spiritual  powers  with  the  ingredients 
ofhuman  knowledge.' "—JUMrary  Gateu*. 

THE  NATURAL  HISTORY  OF  SOCIETY, 

ZK  THB  BABBA  .tons  AMD  OITII.XSXB   BTAXa. 

An  Eiway  towards  distxivering  tbe  Origin  and  Course  of  Human 
Improvement.  By  W.  Cookb  Taylor,  LL.D.,  &c.,  of  Trinity 
College,  Dublin.  Handsomely  pnnted  on  fine  paper.  8  vols. 
IS  mo. 

"  A  most  able  work,  the  design  of  which  is  to  determine  firoui  an  eiamination 
oTtbe  various  forms  in  which  society  has  been  formed,  what  was  tbe  ori^n  of 
civilisutiun,  and  under  what  circumataaces  those  attributes  of  humanity,  wmch  ia 
OHR  country  become  tbe  foundation  of  social  happiness,  and  in  another  perverted 
to  the  production  of  general  misery.  For  this  purpose  the  author  has  separately 
examined  the  principal  elements  by  which  society,  under  all  its  luipects,  is  held 
together,  and  traced  each  to  its  source  in  human  nature.  He  has  then  directed 
attention  to  the  development  of  these  principles,  and  pointed  out  tbe  circum- 
stances by  which  they  were  perfected  on  the  one  hand,  or  corrupted  on  the 
other." 

»  We  perceive  by  the  preface  that  the  work  has  had  throughout,  the  superia- 
tendence  ofthe  very  learned  Archbishop  VVhate|y."  —New-York  Jmcrican. 


CARL  \  IE  ON  HISTORY  AND  HEROES. 
HERO.  HERO-WORSHIP.  AND  THE  HEROIC  IN  HISTORY. 

Six  Lectures,  reported  wltb  emendations  and  additions. 

By  Thomas  Carltlk,  author  of  the  "  French  Revolution,''  "  Sar- 
tor Resartua,"  Sec. 

Contents — The  Hero  as  Divinity,  Odin,  Paganism,  Scapdinavian  Mythology , 
The  Her.>  as  Prophet,  Mahomet.  Islam;  The  Hero  as  Poet,  Dante,  Shaksprare; 
The  Hero  aa  Priest,  Lutber,  Reiormation,  Knox,  Puritanism ;  The  Hero  as  Man 
of  Letters,  Johnson,  Rossi«u,  Burns;  Tbe  Hero  as  King,  Cromwell,  Napoleon, 
Aluderii  Revolut  onism. 

1  vol.  12ino.,  beautifully  printed  on  iine  whito.paper.  i 

THOUGHTS  IN  FAST  TEARS : 

A  beautiful  collection  of  Poi^try,  chiefly  Devoti«>nal.    By  the  Au- 
thor of  the  Cathedral.    1  vol.  royal  Kimo.  elegantly  printed. 


o- 


Publithed  by  D,  Appleton  tf  Co. 


3 


vend  at 

theGer> 

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ify  modern 
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MEDITATIONS  ON  THE  SACRAMENT. 

CkMlIf  MeditatioiM  upon  the  most  Holy  t^acrampnt  of  the  Lord** 
Supper.  By  Chrmtophbr  Sutton,  D  IK,  late  Prebend  of  Weit- 
minater.    1  vol.  royal  16mo.,  elegantly  oruamented. 


LEARN  TO  DIE. 

Dlace  Mori,  Learn  to  Die,  a  ReliKious  Discoune,  moving  evenr 
Christian  man  to  enter  into  a  serious  remembrance  of  his  end. 
By  Christophbr  Sftton,  D  O.,  sonifUme  Prebend  of  Weat- 
minster.    1  vol.  i6mo,  elegantly  ornamented. 


f  Human 
if  Trinity 
'.   2  vols. 


isaroination 
le  orii^n  of 
ity,  which  ia 
er  perverted 
■  separately 
^ts,  is  held 
ten  directed 
the  circum- 
tted  on  the 

the  sapnrin- 
rican. 


Is. 

ISTORY. 

ons. 
■'  ««Sar- 


Mytholngy , 
Shakspeare ; 
lero  as  Man 
I,  Napoleon, 


lythe  Au- 
rinted. 


SACRA  PRIVATA: 


A 


TBI 


Private  Meditations,  Devotions  and  Prayers 

or  tiM  Right  Rev  T.  Wilson,  D.  D.,  Lord  Bishop  of  Soder  and 
Man.  First  complete  edition.  1  vol.  royal  16mo.,  elegantly  or- 
namented.   First  complete  edition. 


A  Discourse  Concerning  Prayer 

And  the  Frequenting  Daily  Public  Prayers.  By  Simon  Patrick, 
D.I).,  sometime  Lord  Bishop  of  Ely.  Edited  by  Francis  £. 
Pagkt,  M  a  ,  Chaplain  to  the  Lord  Bishop  of  Oxford.  1  vol. 
royal  16mo.,  elegantly  oruamented. 

HEART'S  EASE : 

Or  a  Remedy  against  all   Troubles ; 

WITH   A 

Consolatory  Dlsconrse, 

Particularly  addressed  to  those  who  have  lost  their  friends  and  dear 
relatiuus.  By  Simon  Patrick,  D  D.,  someiinie  Lord  Bishop  of 
Ely.    1vol.  royal  lOmo.,  elegantly  ornamented. 


SCRIPTURE  and  GEOLOGY. 

On  the  Relation  between  the  Holy  Scriptures  and  some  parts 
of  Geological  Science.  By  John  Pyk  Smith,  D.D ,  author  of 
the  Scripture  Testimoiiy  of  the  Messiah,  &c.&c.    1  vol.  12mo. 


'  ^ 


New  Works  and  New  Editions 


TOUR  THROUGH  TURKEY  and  PERSIA. 

Narrative  or  a  Tour  through  Armenia,  Kurdistan,  Persia,  and  Mejo- 
pbtamia,  with  an  Introduction  and  Occasional  ObservatiMis 
upon  the  Condition  of  Mobaininedanimn  and  <  'hriatianity  in  those 
countries.  By  the  Rkv.  HuRiLTio  Southoatk,  Missionary  of 
the  American  Bpiicopal  Church.    2  vols.  12mo.  |jlates. 


Magee  on  Atonement  and  Sacrifite. 

Discourses  and  Di^aertations  on  the  Scriptural  Doctrines  of  Atone- 
ment and  Sacrifice,  and  on  ihe  Principal  Arguments  advanced, 
and  thu  Mode  of  Reaponinj;  employed,  by  the  Opponents  of  tliose 
Diictrines,  as  held  by  the  EiKtablished  Church.  By  the  late  Most 
Rev.  WiLLiAvi  Maokk,  D.  D.,  Archbishop  of  Dublin.  2  vols, 
royal  8vo.,  beautifully  piinttd. 


SOUTHEY'S  POETCAL  WORKS. 

The  complete  collected  edition  of  the  Poetical  Worlis  of  Robbrt 
SouTHBY,  Esq.,  LL.D  .  edited  by  himself.  Printed  verbatim 
from  the  ten  volume  London  edition.  Illustrated  with  a  fine  por- 
trait and  vignette.    1  vol.  royal 8vo. 

"  The  beanties  ofMr.  Southey's  Poetry  are  such  that  this  collected  edition  can 
hardly  Ail  to  find  a  place  ia  the  Library  of  every  person  fond  ol'  elegant  I'tera- 
Viwt."  —Eclectic  Review. 

"  Southey's  principal  PoemH  have  been  long  before  the  world,  extensirely  read, 
and  highly  appreciated.  Tlieir  appearing  in  a  uniform  edition,  with  the  author'* 
final  corrections,  will  alTord  unreigned  pleasure  tu  those  who  are  married  to  im- 
mortal verse."— Zrtterary  Oaxette. 

"  This  edition  of  the  works  of  Souths  is  a  credit  to  the  press  of  our  country." 
— iV.  A.  MtvUw. 


mim  HIS"      of  CIVILIZATION. 

General  History  of  (/ivilizatUni  m  Europe,  from  Ihe  Fall  of  the  Ro- 
man Empire  to  the  French  Revolution.  Tran»Iatrd  from  the 
French  of  M.  GUIZOT,  Professor  of  iiletory  to  la  Faculty  des 
Lettresof  Frki-H,  and  Minister  of  Public  Instruction.  2d  Ameri- 
can, from  the  last  Loudon  edition.    1  vol.   12mo. 


BICKERSTETH'S  COMPLETE  W0M8.     ,-    ■ 

The  Works  ol  the  Rrv.  Edward  Bickbrsteth,  Rector  of  Man- 
ton,  Hcrifordshire,  containing  Scripture,  Help,  Treatise  on  Pray- 
er, the  Christian  Hearer,  thi!  Chief  concerns  of  Man  for  Time  and 
Eternity,  Treatise  on  the  Lord's  Supper,  and  the  Christian  Stu- 
dent,    t  vol.  8vo. 


\. 


-o 


-o 


ndMeao- 
srvHtiMis 
'  ill  those 
onary  of 


ofAtone- 
idvanced, 
I  of  titose 
late  Most 
.    3  voli. 


'  ROBCRT 

verbatim 
a  fine  por- 

edUion  can 
egant  I'tera- 

^■ively  Tead, 
the  author's 
irried  to  im- 

if  country." 


of  the  Ro- 

from  the 

'acult6  des 

2d  Amen- 


)r  of  Man- 
le  on  Pray- 
rTiine  and 
istian  Stu- 


Published  by  D.  Appleton  8f  Co. 


-o 


THE  LIFE  OF  ALEXANDER  HAMILTON. 

Edited  by  his  son,  John  C.  Hamilton.    2  vols,  royal  8vo. 

"  \V«  cordially  recommend  the  uerusal  and  diligent  study  of  thpse  volumes,  ex- 
hibiting, aa  tliey  do,  much  valuable  matter  relative  to  tlie  Revolution,  the  estab- 
lishment of  the  Federal  Constitution,  and  other  important  events  in  the  annals 
of  ourcountry."— iV«»o-ion(:  Seview. 


SCOTLAND  and  the  SCOTCH; 


OB,    THE    "WESTERN    CIRCUIT. 

By  Catherine  Sinclair,  author  of  Modern   Accompllahmentfl, 
Modern  Society,  &c.  tec.    1  voi.  12nio. 


SHETLAND  and  the  SHETLANDERS; 

OR.  THE  NORTHERN  CIRCUIT. 

By  Catherine  Sinclair,  auth  'r  of  Scotland  and  the  Scotch,  Ho- 
liday House,  6lc.  &c.    1  vol.  12nio. 


THE  METROPOLITAN  PULPIT; 

Or  Sketches  of  the  most  Popular  Preachers  in  London.  By  the 
author  of  Random  Recollections,  The  Great  Metropolis,  &c.  &c. 
1  vol.  12mo. 

HARE'S*  PAROCHIAL  SERMONS.     ■ 

Sermons  to  a  Country  Congrejratlon.  By  ArocsTrs  William 
Hare,  A.M.,  late  Fellow  of  New  College  and  Rector  of  Alton 
Barnes.    1  vol.  royal  8vo. 

"  Any  one  who  can  be  pleased  with  delicacy  of  thought  expressed  In  the  most 
simple  language — any  one  who  can  feel  the  charm  of  finding  practical  duties  elu- 
cidate and  enforced  by  apt  and  varied  illustrations — will  be  delighted  with  this 
volume,  ivhi()b  presents  us  with  the  workings  of  a  pious  and  highly  gifted  mind." 
— QtMorttrljf  RcvUw. 


Williams's  Missionary  Enterprises. 

A  Narrative  of  Missionary  Enterprises  and  Triumphs  in  the  South 
Seas,  with  Remarlcs  upon  the  Natural  History  of  the  Islands, 
Origin,  Language,  TrHdition  and  Usages  of  the  Inhabitants.  By 
the  Rev.  John  Williams,  of  the  London  Missionary  Society. 
Numarout  plates.    1  vol.  large  ISino. 


-o 


o 


iV«to  Worka  und  New  Edition* 


THE  FLAG  SHIP : 

Or,  a  Voyage  Hound  the  Woild, 

In  the  United  Stntes  Frigntn  Columbia  attendrd  by  h«r  contort,  tlie 
Bloop  of  War  John  ^dani'-,  and  bearinc  tht;  broad  pennant  of 
Commodore  George  C.  Rvad.  By  Pitch  W.  Taylor,  Chaplain  to 
the  Squadron.    2  vols.  12nio.  plates. 


ELLA   V- 


I 


Or  the  July  Tour-    By  one  of  the  Party.     1  vol.  12ino. 
"  He  can  form  •  moral  on  a  glaaa  of  champagne."— Le  Ro/. 


Missionary's  Farewell. 

By  the  Rev.  John  Williami,  author  of  Mlraionary  Enterpriiea, 
4bc.    1  vol.  18mo. 

A  Collection  of  Church  Muaic.    Edited  by  Gcomoi  Kiroilbt, 
author  of  Social  C!ioir,  fcc. 

"  Thla  collention  u  pronounced  by  th«  moat  aninent  proftaaon  to  b«  avparior 
to  any  pabliahed  in  Uw  conntiy. " 


Physical  Theory  of  Another  Life. 

By  TaAAO  Tati.or,   author  of  Natural  Hiiteiy  of  Enthuilaam. 
Third  edition.    Ivol.lSmo. 

By  laAAo  Taylor,  author  of  Natural  Hiftory  of  EnthtMiaam,  tee. 
itc   Second  Edition.   1  vol.  12mo. 

limitations  of  Homan  Besponsibility. 

ByFRANOia  Watlamd,  D.D.   Second  edition.   1  voI.18i.jo. 


The  Principles  of  Diaposis. 

By  Maebhall  Hall,  M.D.  F.R.8..  &e.  Sacond  edition,  with  mwny 
improvementa,  by  Dr-  John  A.  Swktt.   1  vol.  8vo. 


i 


Published  by  D.  AppUton  8f  Co. 


WORKS  BY  THE  REV.  ROBERT  PHILIP. 

THE  LIFE  AND  OPINIONS  OF  DR.  MILNE, 

liISSIONART  TO   OHINA. 

Illustrated  by  Bioffrtiplilnal  Annals  of  Asiatic  Missions  from  Primi- 
tive to  Protestant  Times,  intended  as  a  Guide  to  M  issionary  Spirit. 
By  RoBKRT  Philip.    1  vol.  13nio. 

THE  LIFE  AND  TIMES  OF  JOHN  BUNYAN, 

Author  of  the  Pilsrim's  Progress.  By  Robert  Philip.  With  a  fine 
portiait.    1  vol.  12uio. 

LADY'S  CLOSET  LIBRARY, 

AS  follows: 

THE  MARYS; 

Or  Beauty  of  Female  Holiness.  By  Robert  Philip.   1  vol.  18mo. 

THE  MARTHAS; 

Or  Varieties  of  Female  Piety.    By  Robert  Philip.    1  vol.  18mo. 

THE  LYDIAS; 

Or  Development  of  Female  Character.  By  Robert  Philip.  1 
vol.  18mo. 

DEVOTIONAL  AND  EXPERIMENTAL  GUIDES. 

By  Robert  Philip.  With  an  Introductory  Essay  by  Rev.  Albikt 
Babmes.    S  vo.s.  ISmo.    Containing 

Guide  to  the  Perplexed. 
Do      do  Devotional. 
Do       do  Thoughtful. 
Do       do  Doubting. 
Do       do  Conscientious. 
Do       do  Redemption. 

YOUNG  MAN'S  CLOSET  LIBRARY. 

By  Robert  Philip  With  anlnuoduetoiy  Essay  by  Rev.  Albert 
Barmeb.   1  vol.  12mo. 

LOVE  OF  THE  SPIRIT, 
Trae«d  In  his  Work :  a  Companion  to  the  Experimental  Guides. 
By  Robert  Philip.    1  vol.  18mo. 

Shortly  tot/;  be  Publiahed, 

THE  HANNAHS. 

Being  a  continuation  of  the  Lady's  Clotst  Library,  forming  the 
Maternal  portion  of  the  series. 


■o 


o- 


8 


New  Works  and  New  Editions 


-o 


WORKS  BY  THE  REV.  JOHN  A.  JAMES. 


f 


I 


Pastoral  Addresses: 

By  Rev.  John  Anobll  Jambs.  With  an  Introduction  by  the 
Kkv.  Wh.  Adams.    1  vol.  18mo. 

Content!!.— The  iucreased  Holines«  ofthe  Church.  Spirituality  of  Mind.  Hea- 
vnnly  IMiiidediirHs.  AMurance  of  Hone.  Prnciical  Religion  wmeit  in  every  thing. 
How  (o  sp^nd  a  ProRtalile Siibhath.  Christian  Obligationit.  Life  of  Fiiiih.  Influ- 
ence of  Ulder  Christiana.  The  Spirit  of  Prayer.  Piivate  Prayer.  SeU-£zamin- 
atioo. 

THE  YOUNG  MAN  FROM  HOME. 

In  a  series  of  Letters,  especiully  directed  for  the  Moral  Advancement 
of  Youth.  By  the  Rev.  John  Amorll  Jambs.  Filth  edition. 
1  vol.  18mo.    . 

Tbe  Anxious  Enquirer  after  Salvation 

Directed  and  Encouraged.  By  Rev.  John  Anobll  James.  1  vol. 
ISmo. 

Tlie  Christian  Professor. 

Addressed  in  n  series  of  Counsels  and  Cautions  to  the  Members  ef 
Christian  Churches.  By  Rev.  John  Anobll  James.  I  vol. 
18mo. 

Happiness,  its  Nature  and  Sources. 

By  Rev.  John  Anobll  Jambs. 

THE  WIDOW  DIRECTED 

To  tbe  Widow's  God.    By  Rev.  John  Anobll  Jambs. 


DISCOURSES  ON  THE  NERVOUS  SYSTEM. 

Select  Discoursefi  on  the  Functions  of  the  Nervous  System,  In  oppO' 
sition  to  Phrenology,  Materialism  and  Atheism  ;  to  which  is  pre- 
fixed a  Lecture  on  the  Diversities  ofthe  Human  CharncttT,  aris- 
ing from  Physiological  Peculiarities.  By  John  Auoustinb 
Smith,  M.D.    1  vol.  12mo. 


Thongbts  in  AfiSietionr 


By  the  Rev.  A.  S.  Thelw^ll.  A.M.  To  which  is  added  Bereaved 
Parents  Conaoted^  by  John  Thornton,  with  Sacred  Poetry. 
1  vol.  32mo. 


6- 


-o 


Published  by  D.  AppUton  Sf  Co. 


WORKS  BY  THE   RJV.  DR.  SPRAGUE. 
True  and  False  Religion. 

Leetureg  illuotratinir  the  Coiitraat  betwvai  True  ChriBtianity  nnd 
various  other  aystemfl.  By  William  B  Spraock,  D.D.  1  vol. 
I'imo. 

Leetures  on  ReviTals 

In  Rfliffiop.  By  W.  B.  Bpraoob,  D.D.  With  an  Introductory 
Essay  by  Leonard  Woods,  D.D.    Ivol.lSmo. 

letters  to  a  Daughter, 

On  Practical  Subjects.  Bv  W.  B.  Spraock,  D.D.  Fourth  edi- 
tion, revised  nnd  enlarged.    1  vol.  ISino. 

Lectures  to  Young  People. 

By  W.  B.  Spragub,  D.D.  With  an  Introductory  Ad^ess  by  Sam- 
VKL  Miller,  D.D.    Fourth  edition.    1  vol.  ISmo. 


MY  SON'S  MANUAL. 

Onmprising  a  Summary  View  of  the  Studies,  Accomplishments,  and 
l*rinci|ile8  of  Conduct,  best  suited  for  P>omoting  Respectability 
and  Success  in  Life.  Elegantly  engraved  frontispiece.  I  vol.  ISnio. 


MY  DAUGHTER'S  MANUAL. 

Comprising  a  Nummary  View  of  Female  Studies,  Accomplishments 
and  Principles  of  Conduct.    Beautiful  frontispiece.    1  vol.  ISmo. 


GRIFFIN'S  REMAINS. 

Remains  of  the  Rev.  Edmund  D.  Griffin.    Compiled  by  Francis 
Orifpim.    With  a  Memoir  by  Rbv.  Dr.  MnVicAR.    2  vols.  8vo. 


HODGE  ON  THE  STEAM-ENGINE. 

The  Steam  Engine,  its  Origin  and  Gradual  Improvement  from  the 
time  of  Hero  to  the  present  day,  as  adapted  to  Manufactures,  Lo- 
comotion and  Navigation.  Illustrated  with  forty-eight  plates  in 
fill!  detail,  numerous  wood  cuts,  &c.  By  Pavl  R.  Hodok,  C.  E. 
1  vol.  folio  of  plates  and  letter-press  in  8vo. 

"  In  this  work  the  best  Western  and  Eastern  machinery,  as  applied  to  navipi. 
tlon,  together  with  the  roost  approved  locomotive  engines  in  this  country  and 
Europe,  are  given  in  detail,  forming  the  most  valuable  work  for  the  practical  man 
•ver  published." 


i> 


10 


New  Workg  and  New  Edition* 


t'.-/ 


\ 


o 


APPLETON'S  TALES  FOR  THE   PEOPLE 

And  their  Children. 

The  greatest  care  U  taken  in  selectini^  the  works  of  which  the 
collection  is  composed,  so  that  nothing  either  mediocre  in  talent, 
or  momoral  in  tendency,  is  admitted.  Each  volume  is  printed 
in  the  Anest  paper,  is  illustrated  with  an  elegant  frontispiece, 
and  is  bound  in  a  superior  manner,  tastefully  ornamented.  ^ 
The  following  have  already  appeared  uniform  in  size  and  style: 

WHO  SHALL  BE  GREATEST  P    A  Tale:  by  Mart  How- 
ITT.    1  vol.  18mo.,  plates. 

"  The  emit  moral  lenon  inoulcalcd  br  Ihit  book  li  Indicatwt  by  lis  title ;  and 
*  while  It  u  prominent  enoiifh  ihroiijth  the  whole  volume,  it  cornea  out  at  the 
eloie  with  moat  impreaiive  efliect.  We  need  not  my  it  ia  a  leeeon  which  everj 
human  being  Uthe  wiaer  and  the  belter  for  learning.  We  conlially  recom- 
mend the  worii  to  all  who  would  deairo  to  form  a  loberand  rational  eitlinate 
of  the  world's  enjoymenta.  "—AVttany  Evtning  Journal. 

SOWING  AND  REAPING  :  or  What  wUl  Come  of  It!  by 
Mary  Howitt.    1  vol.  18mo.,  plates. 

"  We  ocmmenecd  It  with  the  Intention  of  ]uit  looking  it  ov«r  for  the  pnr- 
poee  of  writing  a  ounory  notice ;  but  we  began  to  read,  and  lo  we  went  on 
to  the  flnis.  It  li  very  interaMing ;  the  characters  are  full  of  Individuality.  "— 
N»ta-B«dford  Mtrcury. 

STRIVE  AND  THRIVE  :  a  Tale  by  Mart  Howitt.  1  vol. 
18mo.,  plates. 

"  The  mere  announcement  of  the  name  of  the  anthow.  will  doubtle« 
bring  any  of  her  productlona  to  the  immediate  notice  of  the  public ;  but 
Strive  and  Thrive  is  not  a  bo«)k  for  children  only,  but  can  be  rend  with 
pleasure  aitd  advantage  by  those  of  a  mora  mature  age.  It  fully  sustains  the 
reputation  of  llspredeceasora.  The  style  is  easy  and  flowing,  the  languan 
chaste  and  beaiitflul,  and  the  incidents  of  the  tale  calculated  to  keep  up  Uw 
interest  to  the  end— ATeia- Ybrft  CowHer  If  Enquirer. 

HOPE  ON,  HOPE  EVER:  or  the  Boyhood  of  Felix  Law:  by 
Mart  Howitt.    1  vol.  18mo. 

"  A  very  neat  volnme  with  the  above  title,  and  the  farther  annonelatlon 
that  it  may  be  called  Tales  for  the  People  and  their  Chiklren,  has  been  written 
by  Mary  Howitt,  whose  name  is  so  favourably  known  to  the  ratding  com- 
nmnitr. 

"  "niis  volume  like  all  othera  that  emanate  flrom  the  pen  of  thia  lodjr,  la  ex- 
tremely Intercaling;  the  characters  are  naturally  drawn,  while  the  feeling  and 
paaaion  di»layed,  Wive  the  work  a  higher  rank  than  Is  usually  allotted  to 
Nursery  Talea. "—(%mm«rdai  Advtrtutr. 

THE  LOOKING  GLASS  FOR  THE  M I N  D  :  or  Intellectu- 
al Mirror,  being  an  elegant  collection  of  the  most  delightful 
little  stories  aad  interesting  tales :  chiefly  translated  from  that 
mnch  admired  work  L'ami  des  Enfans ;  with  numerous  wood 
cuts— the  twentieth  edition.    1  vol.  18mo. 

The  stories  here  collected  are  of  a  most  Interesting  character,  since  virtue  is 
instantly  represented  ai  the  fountain  of  happiness,  and  vice  as  the  source  of 
jvery  evii-Has  a  useful  and  instructive  Looking  Glass,  we  recommend  It  for  the 
instruction  of  every  youth,  whether  Miss  or  Master ;  it  is  a  mirror  that  will 
not  flatter  them  or  lead  them  into  error ;  it  diq)lays  the  follies  and  improper 
puraults  of  youthful  hearts,  poinx  out  the  dangerous  patha  they  sometimsi 
fraad,  and  oleon  the  way  to  the  tmp:*  of  honour  andfaiM. 


Publiahed  by  D.  AppUton  t(  Co. 


11 


PLE 


lich  the 
I  ta]ent, 
printed 
lispleco, 
)d.  ^ 
d  style : 

Y  How- 

I  till* ;  and 
out  at  ttw 
hiob  every 
llr  reoom- 
klMtlinata 

rut  by 

or  the  pnr- 
«  went  on 
luaUty."— 

1  vol. 


doubtleti 
iiblio;  but 
sraul  with 
ncUkini  the 
t  lenguan 
nep  up  (M 

Law:  by 


aunciatlon 
len  written 
.dinf  oom- 

odjr,  iees< 
feeling  and 
allotted  to 

lellectu- 
Biightful 
"om  that 
AS  wood 


M  Tirtueia 
e  aource  of 
id  II  for  the 
ir  that  will 
improper 
tometima 


AT   HOME:  by  Harrikt  Martiniau. 


THI    SETTLERS 

1  vol.  Ibmo. 

"  The  oircumilaneM  under  which  Ihie  iillle  volume,  for  Ih*  amueement  of 
ohililren,  hiu  txien  productid,  live  an  additional  charin  (o  iii  iriitli,  liinpiluiiy, 
and  feeling.  The  tule,  thoiiah  in  one  paaage  ■orrowlui  enough  to  nioiiten 
many  a  pair  of  eyia,  li  fnll  of  inlemt  .ind  clinracler.  Tlie  iulKr,  we  nmy 
add,  if  01  much  nppreuiated  by  children  n«  I  he  former  j  nnd  they  will  lake  aa 
lively  an  iniereat  In  Ailwin'i  ignorant  and  nmrlliiti  fldelily  and  her  tialwart 
arnia,  nnd  In  Kocer  Medium  the  gipiiy  boy'i  gieami  of  iwiter  naiure,  aa  in  the 
developenient  of  Ihe  main  incident  of  die  book,  a  dlaaiiroiii  Hood  which 
qiread  devaitation  over  the  Iile  of  Aahulme  two  huiKln  1  yean  iigo."— illAe- 
fkium. 

"  The  early  tale*  of  MIm  Martlnean,  written  (o  Inculcate  and  illuairale,  by 
pmciioai  esamplea,  the  truUia  of  poliilcal  economy,  will  iurvive  her  later 
and  more  conirovcriiHl  worka.  So  In  ihi*  liltlu  iiory  of  the  Hiitory  and  ill- 
Ireaunenl  of  lome  Dutch  witlen,  in  the  feni  uf  Mnculiiihire— <liirinK  the  wan 
of  Ihe  Farllainent  became  Uiey  were  Mraiigeri,  niui  beunuae,  iiioreuver;  they 
inlert'ered  with  the  wild  ami  agiie-fhaken  gunnen  nnd  flahurmen  of  Ihe  lena,— 
we  mse  again  ihe  mme  ihrewdiieta  uf  olworvaliun— die  unie  rcnl  liiteroal  in  tli* 
welfare  of  the  humble  chiia  die  tame  lairaciiy,  nnd  occaaional  naiurni  pa- 
thoe,  which  raudered  die  noliiicu-ecunomicAl  iraclaio  attractive,  in  dtq>lteof 
their  name  and  aubjeot.  "—ATcw- Yori  American. 

EARLY  FRiENDSHIP:a  Tale  by  Mra.  Coplx  y.  1  vol.  18mo., 
plates. 

In  introducing  the  name  of  a  new  writer  to  this  series  of 
popular  works,  the  publishers  cannot  but  express  their  desire 
that  all  who  have  purchased  previous  volumes,  will  buy  this, 
being  assured  it  will  ommend  itself  to  the  reader  so  that  the 
name  of  Mrs.  Copley  will  soon,  like  the  name  of  JUowitt, 
be  a  passport  to  the  notice  and  favour  of  the  whole  reading 
community. 

FAMILY  SECRETS  :  or  Hints  to  those  who  would  make 
Home  Happy,  by  Mrs.  Ellis,  author  of  "  The  Women  of 
England,"  •♦  Poetry  of  Life,"  etc. 

"  The  tendenor  of  thia  book  la  one  of  Ihe  bert  and  nobleat  The  aeenea  and 
ohamcten  are,  it  ii  believed,  portraiu.  Aiming  aa  it  doea  at  the  correc- 
tion of  a  too  prevalent  vice— it  la  expected  that  the  Family  Seoreli  will  com- 
mand amonpt  the  wrioua  and  thinking  part  of  the  community  a*  extenaive  • 
popularity  a*  Niclnlaa  Nioklebydoea  in  liapeenllar  circle." 

PAST  DAYS;  a  Story  for  Children.  By  Esthkb  Whitlock. 
Square  18mo. 

"It  ia  a  delightful,  inatruotlve  little  book ;  andif  die  child,  when  riw  cloaea 
the  volume,  flnd  her  'eye*  red  with  weeping,'  let  her  not  be  aahomed ;  one  old 
enough  to  be  her  grandfather,  caught  the  loma  diieaae  from  the  aame  oouroe." 
— />Mlad^4Ma  Uniud  Utaten  Oaxttu. 

mm  SYMBOLICAL  SPELLING-BOOL 

Tli«  Symbolical  Spelling  Book,  in  two  parts.    By  Edward  Ha- 
ZRN.    Containing  288  engravings,  printed  on  good  paper. 

"Thla  work  ia  already  introduced  into  upworda  of  one  tbouaand  different 
•ehoola,  and  pronounced  to  be  oae  of  the  beat  worka  publiahed. 


■6 


o 


'^■ 


12 


iVtfto  Wotlti  and  New  Editiont 


t 


Laffver's  Modern  Architeetnre. 

Beauties  of  Modern  Arrhitecture;  rnnsintlnR  of  Forty-pl|rht  rintM 
of  Original  DeHigni,  with  Ploni,  Klevitloni  nnd  Ht'ctionn,  nito  a 
Dictionary  ofTfchnical  Termi,  thw  >nlo  tbrming  n  complete 
Manual  for  the  Prncticul  nuainnrnt  Man.  '  M.  LAricvkR,  Arcbi- 
ti'Ct.    1  vol.  large  8vo.  hair  bound. 

lafever's  Stair-Case  and  Hand-Rail  Construction. 

The  Modem  Practirn  of  Stair-CaBO  nnc'  Ifand-Rail  Construction, 
liractlcally  explnincd  in  a  ■cries  of  DoHiitnt.  My  M.  LArievKR, 
Arcliitfct.  With  Plans  and  Elevations  toi'  Ornamental  Villas. 
Fifteen  plates.    1  vol  large  8vo. 

Keightly's  Mythology  for  Sehools. 

Tlie  Mytholony  of  Ancient  Greece  and  Itnly,  designed  for  the  use  of 
Schools.  By  Thomas  Kkiohtly.  Numerous  woodcut  Illustra- 
tions.   1  vol.  18mo.  half  bound. 

POLYMICRIAN  NEW  TESTAMENT. 

Numerous  Aeferences,  Maps,  Ulc.    J  vol.  l(?mo. 

By  J.  K.  PAtTLDiNo,  Esq.  IlluRtrated  with  one  hundred  unique 
original  plates  by  Cbapman.    Elegantly  bound.    1  vol.  ]2iuo. 


Hir  Preparing  for  Publication. 

LEARN  TO  LIVE. 

Diflce  Vivere,  Learn  to  Live;  wherein  is  shown  that  the  Life  of 
Christ  is,  and  ought  to  be,  an  express  Pattern  for  imitation  unto 
the  life  of  a  Christian.  By  Christohiibr  Sutton,  UD.,  some* 
time  Prebend  of  Westminster.    1  vol.  16mo.  elegantly  printed. 


Tlie  Early  English  Church ; 

By  the  R«t.  Edward  Chcrtoa,  A.M.    1  vol.  IGmo.    With  a  Pre- 
face by  the  Right  Rev.  Bishop  Ivis. 


Preparing  for  Publicaiion. 


13 


FALMER'S  TREATISE  on  the  CHURCH. 

A  TBICATI8E   ON   THB   CHURCH   OF   OHRIBT, 

Detiiriied  chiKlly  for  the  um*  of  Stiidenii  in  Thfolotty.  By  th« 
Kkv.  William  Palmer,  M  A.,  tif  Woinciil.'r  Collette,  Oxroril. 
EditHd,  with  Notea,  by  the  Rlfflit  lUv.  W.  K.  Wiiittinuham,  D.D., 
Biihop  of  the  ProtcMtaiit  EpiitcoiMl  Church  in  the  dIttceHo  ui 
Marylaud.    2  vols.  8vo.    Uumitoniely  printed  on  lln«  papvr. 


The  Beauties  of  the  Country ; 

By  Thomas  Millir  ;  author  of  •'  Rural  Blc«tcheii,"  **  Day  In  the 
Wood*,"  tffe. 

HISTORY  OF  NAPOLEON, 

From  the  French  of  M.  Lavrknt  pk  L'Ardrcub.  With  Five 
Hundred  Itluitiationa,  after  Designi  by  Uokacb  Vrrnbt.  3 
vola.  8vo. 

The  Selected  Beauties  of  British  Poetry, 

With  Biographical  and  Critical  Notice*,  and  an  Essay  on  English 
Poetry.  By  Tuomas  Camvbkll.  One  liandiouie  vuluiue,  royal 
8vo. 


From  the  last  London  edition.    1  vol.  lOnio.  elegantly  printed. 


life  and  Adventures  of  Robinson  Crusoe. 

By  Danibl  Defok.    WithTnree  Hundred  Illustrations;  after  De* 
signs  by  Grandvillb.    1  vol.  8vo. 


THE  PHILOSOPHICAL  HISTORY  OF  MANKIND. 

From  the  German  of  Hbrdbr. 


The  History  of  the  Reformation  in  Germany.  By  Leopold  von 
Rankb,  author  of  the  History  of  the  Pope*.  Translated  by  Sa- 
rah AUSTBN. 


o 


.iteiiiimiiw'ili^im'iMtiiaririiiiiitiaiitiAiih- 


W" 


iiiiiinMiif;''ii;iill 


Recently  Published. 
The  Sacred  Choir: 

A  COLLECTION  OF  CHURCH  MUSIC. 

CoDsiittng  of  SelectfQiia  from  the  most  diminguirbed  authori,  among 
wliom  are  the  names  of  Hayun,  Mozart,  Bbkthovicn,  Pkrgo- 
LE88I,  &c.  &c. ;  with  several  pieces  of  Music  by  the  author; 
also  a  Pnigressive  Elementary  Syntem  of  Instruction  for  Pupils. 
By  i*B0ROB  KiNosLKY,  autliof  of  the  Social  Cboir,  &c.  &c. 
Fourth  edition. 

tCST"  'I'he  foUoMring  are  among  the  many  favourable  opinions 
(izpressed  of  this  work.  % 

From  L.  Meigntn,  Pnifttior  t^f  Miuie,  Philadelphia. 

:  "O.  Kis^sley, 

"  Sir,— 1  have  CBrefully  perused  the  copy  of  your  new  work,  and  it  it  with 
the  greatest  pleuaure  that  1  now  tell  you  that  I  have  been  highly  gratified  with  the 
reading  of  many  uf  ita  pieces.  The  harmony  throughout  in  full,  elfectiTe  and 
correct;  tlie  melodies  are  well  selected  and  well  adapted;  and  I  have  no  doubt, 
that  when  known  and  appreciated,  this  work  will  be  Tound  in  the  library  of  every 
choir  whose  director  feels,  as  many  do,  the  want  of  a  complete  reformation  in 
that  deparunent  oi'  music    Believe  me,  dear  sir, 

"Vours  respectfVilly, 

••  L.  Meignen." 

From  Mr.  B.  DtnwMn,  Pretident  of  the  David  Saered  Miuie  Soeietn,  Philadel- 
phia, to  George  Kingiley. 

'  "  Dear  sir,— Having  examined  your  '  Sacred  Choir,'  I  feel  much  pleasure  in  re- 
commeoding  it  as  the  very  best  collection  of  Church  Music  I  have  ever  seen.  It 
combines  the  beauties  oi  other  books  of  the  kind,  with  some  deiided  improve- 
ments in  selection,  arrangement  and  composition,  and  commends  iteelf  tu  the 
choir,  the  pailour  and  social  circle.  Withiag  you  the  success  your  valuable  and 
waU-aranged  work  ii<erils,  1  am,  sir, 

"  Yours  respectfully." 

From  the  Committee  of  the  Choir  of  Yale  College. 

~"  Sir,— We  have  been  usinR  for  some  time  past  your  new  publication  in  the 
choir  with  which  we  are  conneited.  We  take  pleafture  in  statins  to  you  our  en- 
tire satisfaction  with  the  manner  in  which  it  has  been  ci>nipiled  and  harmonized, 
and  would  willingly  reeommend  it  to  any  of  the  associations  desiring  a  collection 
of  Sacred  Music  of  a  sterling  character  and  original  matter.    The  melodies  are 

3uite  vaiicd  and  of  an  unusually  pleasing  characler ;  and  uniliiig,  as  they  do,  the 
evotional  with  the  pleasing,  we  have  no  hesilaliun  iu  giving  them  out  preference 
to  any  other  collection  of  a  similar  character  at  present  in  use  among  the 
churches. " 

From  Three  Leadere  <if  Choir*. 

*  Mr.  George  Kingsley. 

"  Sir,—  V\e  have  examined  the  'Sacred  Choir'  enough  to  lead  us  to  ap- 
preciate the  work  as  the  best  publication  ofSai  red  Music  extant.  It  is  beautifully 
printed  and  substantially  bound,  conferring  credit  on  the  publishers.  We  bespeak 
for  the  '  Sacred  Music  Choir'  an  extensive  circulation. 

Sincerely  yours, 

"  O.  S.  Bowdoin. 
"  E,  O.  Goodwin. 
"  D.  Iiigraham.", 


o- 


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EMPORIUM  FOR  STANDARD  LITERATURE, 
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